The 100 Years War
by ShadowFox197
Summary: The 100 Years 'Itch' War between France and Britain is destroying lives: bribes are being paid, alliances made, and battles fought. When Prince Arthur of England captures French Amelie (FemFrance), he brings a wicked twist to the war. With her new found magic, will Amelie be able to stop this feud? Most characters make appearances in this story (with pairings)! Rated to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Amelie opened her gray eyes to the thatched roof above her. Her two older "brothers" lay snoring beside her, her younger "brother" on the other side. Wearily, she crawled from the below the warmth of there shared blanket, careful to set it back in place after her absence. Her adoptive mother and father remained asleep across the room.

Amelie grabbed her boots, and slipped out the door of the log cabin. Outside, Amelie stretched the stiffness from her muscles. The autumn air was cool and crisp, and the pastel fog banks drifted lazily along.

Amelie had lived on the Northern Coast of France for as long as she could remember. She'd been orphaned 16 years ago as a baby when the Plague had swept through their small town, and she in turn was brought to the neighboring farm. She now lived with her three "brothers," "mother" and "father," growing hearty apples and selling them in the markets on weekdays.

Amelie grabbed the empty pale laying in the dirt beside the well, and carefully lowered it into the water. She washed her face in the freezing liquid, dispersing her remaining weariness. Refreshed, she tied her hair back with a piece of twine from her apron pocket. A single red streak in her otherwise straw blond hair stubbornly refused to be held back. Amelie sighed, and resigned to tucking it behind her ear.

As Amelie began her stroll towards the family orchard, she was surprised to hear the distant thunder of hoof beats. Suddenly panicked, Amelie raced into the orchard, hoping the blossoming apples could hide her. If the hoof beats were that loud, it could only be one thing.

The English.

Eyes wide, Amelie stiffened in fright when her fears were confirmed.

Hundreds of black and brown flanks of sweaty horses came into her field of view. Men hollered to one another to maintain order, brandishing fearsome spears and swords.

Amelie had been aware for months, everyone had, that the English invasion was fate. France had engaged in another dance with England – and France was loosing. England had a plethora of ships, and could unpredictably pillage any number of French towns with no warning.

And now they were here. Amelie watched in horror as the General of the army- red cape and white horse standing out from the rest- barged right up to her family's log cabin. He knocked loudly; Amelie could hear it from the orchard.

Amelie watched as her "mother", petite and frail, came to the door. Cowering in fright once she saw who it was, she attempted to shut the door. The General stuck his foot in the door, banging it open again.

Amelie's "mother" screamed in terror as the General streamed in with four comrades, all waving swords wildly. Amelie heard her "father" roar with rage. Her "mother" screamed again, something fell, her little "brother" shrieked, glass broke, and then it was quiet.

The silence was worse than the screams.

The General came back, triumphant. He wiped blood from his crimson sword. He hastily slid it back into its sheath, grin spreading wider. He ordered his men to dismount, and gestured into the orchard where Amelie was hiding, bursting ripe with apples.

Amelie's knees finally collapsed from beneath her. She couldn't cry. She couldn't stand. She couldn't run. The English killed her family in order to pillage the orchard. And now they were going to kill her. Shaking, Amelie scrambled away –red terror coloring her vision.

She could hear the men behind her; they'd seen her, and now they were going to kill her. Amelie ran faster, adrenaline pushing her forward into the misty morning. Her breathing was ragged, her strides uneven, but she ran.

The men behind her fell further behind, heavy armor weighing the down. Amelie dared not look behind, for fear of tripping. She circled in the orchard, wanting to see her family one last time.

Just as the leaves of the apple trees were thinning, Amelie slowed. She couldn't breath. Her house was in view again, and the only thing she saw moving were the men's horses.

Everything was quiet, as if nothing had happened.

Amelie tentatively crept towards her house. Did she really want to see? No.

But she had to.

Amelie pushed the door open, smashed in on the right side where the General had pushed his way through.

Amelie fell to her knees, and the tears finally came. Everything was covered in blood. The bed, the ceiling, the floor. The woman who had cared for her since the Plague, washed her, fed her, sang her to sleep, lay draped artfully over her husband. Both stabbed through the chest, they painted an immortal picture of love. And terror. The agony was stamped to their faces, frozen in time. Her older "brother" both lay on the bed. It almost looked like they were still sleeping, except for the fact that they were dripping in crimson.

And Amelie's little "brother" was too much to look at. Beheaded, he remained suspended in horror, dead on the floor.

Amelie sobbed uncontrollably, overcome with grief. What was she going to do?

She sat there for a moment, lost in her own small world of pain.

Suddenly, she was jerked to her feet by her hair.

Amelie screamed, kicking her assaulter wildly.

She kicked something solid and was immediately dropped into the blood of her "mother." Amelie whipped around, eyes searching frantically for some kind of weapon.

The hearth poker lay disregarded nearby.

Amelie lunged for it, but her arm was crushed by a heavy boot. Pinned down, Amelie looked up into the glowering eyes of the General.

His eyes were a piercing, cold, green. Amelie flinched, squirming in discomfort. Suddenly, the General stomped on Amelie's arm, and she felt the bone break. Amelie shrieked, involuntary tears streaming afresh from her eyes. Cradling her injured arm, she scampered away from the General, further into her family's home.

"I thought you might come back here." The General spike in soft English. "Rats always come back to their nests."

Amelie whimpered, shielding herself from the man's piercing gaze with her bangs.

Stumbling to find the words, she spoke in shaky English.

"Why are you waiting? Kill me already."

The General paused in his advance, momentarily dumbfounded by her question. "You want me to kill you?" He asked.

Amelie finally looked up at him, surprised by his gentle tone. She was shocked when she looked at his face. His bloodied sword juxtaposed the youthfulness she saw in his features. He looked much to young to be a General – only a couple years older than Amelie herself at most.

Amelie shook her head, and repeated her question more firmly: "Why are you waiting? Is it so I suffer?" Amelie shakily sucked in her breath, her arm painfully throbbing.

"I don't believe in killing young girls." The General replied. "You aren't the one's England's worried about."

With a sneer, the man's tone changed again. "Of course, most army men would take a young woman like you for his own pleasure."

Amelie stiffened, reminded once again that this man was a ruthless murderer. Suddenly filled with rage, Amelie screamed at him: "You murderer! You killed my entire family, and took everything we own! You English are nothing but scrum!" Amelie spat on his boots in defiance, eyes burning with a challenge.

"Disobedient wench!" The General roared, slapping Amelie across the face. Amelie felt the blood well up inside her mouth. Suddenly, his voice dropped to a whisper again, and he crouched down low to be beside Amelie. "Words like that may change my mind girl. I can still kill you."

Amelie puckered her lips, and spat blood at his face.

He stared back at Amelie impassively, startling her.

"You know," the General deadpanned, "You've got some real nerve." Amelie stared up at him, confused. He wasn't going to punish her? Suddenly, it clicked. He really wasn't going to kill her. Yet.

"What are you going to do with me?" Amelie whispered.

"Well," the General thought, scratching his chin. "I like your spirit. You're going to come with me."

"NO!" Amelie screamed. "I'd rather die than submit to English scum! Kill me now, or I'll do it myself!" Amelie reached between the General's legs to the poker, and stuck the tip to her throat, fighting back tears.

"Wait, stop!" The General shouted. "Don't kill yourself! I spare your life, and you already want to sacrifice it?!" He hastily ripped the poker out of her grip.

Amelie stared up at him, confused beyond belief.

"You killed my family. How is my death any different than theirs? Why do you care if I die?" Amelie asked.

The Englishman signed. "This probably sounds stupid, but you remind me of my little sister."

The General hid his face with his hand, looking both embarrassed and ashamed.

'Seriously?' Amelie thought. 'Not what I was expecting.'

"Okay," Amelie stuttered. "So, you're not going to kill me...and I'm…not going to commit suicide…so…what am I doing?"

"You're going to England." The General sighed. And with that, his cruel smile returned, and Amelie was dragged over the bodies of her family, shell-shocked and terrified for her future.

**Author's Note:** Ha. Ha. Ha. Sorry to leave it on such a depressing note! I've written quite a few chapters for this story, and it definitely gets happier, trust me. Please review and tell me how I can improve, please?

Also, Amelie is FemFrance, I just don't like FemFrace's 'regular' human names. Sorry!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Amelie lay on the cold, wet floor of the General's cabin, staring blankly at the ceiling above her.

Her body was entirely numb, but her throat was sore from screaming, and her cheeks wasted with tears.

She couldn't think. She couldn't move. She couldn't breath. All she could do was lay there, disregarded like an old toy –broken.

Fresh tears, the only warmth Amelie felt, caressed her cheeks. It was so quiet she could hear them hit the wooden floor.

As Amelie regained full consciousness, she became more aware of her surroundings- the cackles of men's laughter above deck, the constant creaking of the ship, the distant break of waves upon the proud English ships prow.

Amelie sat up, groggy and sore. She tried to push the memory of the General's possessive body out of her mind, but it was hard to ignore the bloodstains on her petticoats.

Feeling sick, Amelie stumbled to the door of the cell, shaky hands fumbling with the door.

It was locked.

Fresh tears of frustration poured from Amelie's eyes, and she kicked the door. Of the course the General locked her in. She'd just jump off and try to swim to land if she got above deck.

Her back to the door, Amelie slid to he ground, tears spent. Suddenly, from outside, Amelie heard the voices of two men. They were loud and obnoxious –they were obviously drunk, celebrating their return to their homeland.

"Are ya sure its this room?" one man slurred, leaning heavily against the General's door.

"Yah," the other replied, voice thick with alcohol. "This's the one…"

Amelie, curious now, listened with amusement as they fumbled with the door. 'You won't get in that way…' Amelie thought.

"It's locked." The second one mumbled after a minute of repeated failures to open the door. 'Thank you Captain Obvious.' Amelie though, rolling her eyes.

"Drat…Well, it figures he'd keep her locked up for himself."

"Yeah," the other man replied, audibly scratching a ragged beard. "Though I heard he was just gonna drop her off as soon as we got to England…"

"Huh. Probably sell her as a whore or something. You'd think he had enough money already, being royalty and all…"

Royalty? The General was Royalty? Somehow Amelie couldn't imagine him holding anything but a sword, much less a scepter or a wine glass.

"Well, no use hanging around here. Looks like we can't have a little fun with her tonight."

Suddenly, Amelie was glad the door was locked. 'Wait…' Amelie thought. 'It's already night?'

Amelie paled when she realized it was. Through the small port window, she could see the sky dimming at a rapid pace. 'That means the General will be back soon!' Amelie panicked, heartbeat quickening.

Panicked at the thought of another night with him, Amelie scrambled from the door, desperate for escape. There was a small port window above a cluttered desk. She stood atop it, unbalanced for a second. Looking for something to smash the glass with, Amelie grabbed a weighted ink well. Ignoring the sticky black ink on her fingers, she flung it at the window, dousing herself with the rest of the liquid in the process.

'I look like a mess anyway,' Amelie sniffed.

Hiking up her skirts, Amelie poked her head out the window to see if anyone had noticed.

Boisterous laughter resounded from the hall further down the hull of the ship. The men were feasting in victory – and there was no need for a lookout behind the boat to watch for enemies so close to the mainland. Amelie hoisted herself into the windowsill, carful to avoid the fragments of glass that remained.

She slipped out the window, wincing slightly when her knees and shoulders scrapped across the invisible knives.

Dropping to the deck, Amelie scanned for any land. It was getting darker by the minute, but she could still make out a lumpy blob against the glistening horizon. She could swim that far.

Amelie sprinted across the deck, tasting freedom.

Launching herself over the edge, Amelie flailed in the air, attempting to right herself.

Amelie slammed into the water, a coffin suffocating her.

It was freezing, and deep – Amelie didn't know which way was up. Suddenly, adrenaline kicked in, spurring Amelie upwards, towards light and life.

Breaking the surface, Amelie coughed and sputtered, suffocating in her own clothes.

Shaking the water out of her congested ears, Amelie was alarmed to hear men shouting behind her.

Amelie quickly stripped her skirt and bodice, undoing the ties with nimble fingers.

Stroking strongly now, Amelie paddled away, breathing deeply between each stroke; she hadn't swum for years.

The men were shouting louder now, obviously panicked that their prize was getting away. It sounded like they were debating on who could swim or not.

'Wow.' Amelie thought. 'They're skilled sails men, but they don't know how to swim? That's sad'

Smirking slightly at the comedy of it, Amelie paddled harder, adrenaline running thick and strong through her blood. Slowly but surely, Amelie began to feel the current of the ship behind her. 'Damn' Amelie thought. 'Why are they bothering to go after me?!'

Soon enough, an atomic splash startled Amelie from behind. Strong arms encircled her waist, and bound her arms with heavy rope.

Amelie struggled to free herself, knowing she'd be unable to escape –let alone swim – tied in rope. But the arms remained tight, stonewalls, imprisoning her.

Amelie spat salt water, and whipped her hair, hoping to at least distract her offender. They were pulled aboard by rope, both sopping wet and smelling of the sea.

Amelie was dumped ungracefully on the deck, knees collapsing beneath her.

Amelie coughed up the remaining seawater in her lungs, feeling truly like a drenched rat.

A polished boot's measure tapping brought Amelie's gray eyes to the General's green. He was scowling, a dirty look that aged him. Amelie stared at him impassively, keenly aware that her formerly white petticoat was now ink stained, bloody, soaking wet, and see-through.

Not that it mattered; he'd already seen her naked before. But it was still unnerving being practically nude in front of 20 ogling men.

Blushing slightly, Amelie crossed her arms over her chest; trying to scrap together what little modesty she had left.

The General stepped forward, twirling his sword expertly, jade eyes glowing, calculating.

'What's he going to do?' Amelie wondered. Honestly, she was so beyond caring what happened to her. She'd already accepted her death. So long as he didn't attack her in bed again…

Amelie involuntarily began to tremble. Furious that her body was showing weakness, she bit her lip. It started bleeding, and the nectar cleared her thoughts. Calming herself, Amelie resolved to never be taken advantage by a man like that again.

Boldly looking up, Amelie challenged her predator, questioning with her eyes. Amelie stared at the man: he who had murdered her family; he who had stolen her from her homeland; he who had violated her, and tossed her aside like garbage. He who was looking down at her now, smirking. 'What will he do next?' Amelie pondered.

He was crouching next to her now, eagerly leaning into her personal space. His eyes flit between hers, two unsuitable gems of greed. Amelie's jaw hardened. 'I will not submit to you.' Amelie snarled in her mind.

"What am I going to do with you?" the General breathed. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips before they slammed into Amelie's mouth. Rough against her, he tried to force himself into her mouth. But she refused.

Frustrated, he tried again, but in vain. Thoroughly flustered, he pulled back, more surprised than anything. Looking around, he seemed to remember he had an audience.

"Get back to the hall!" he ordered. To Amelie he hissed "You're coming with me."

Arms still bound, Amelie had no choice but to follow him back to his quarters.

'Please no, please no, please no…' Amelie pleaded in her mind. 'Anything but there!'

The General all but dragged her across the deck, and locked the door behind them.

Once inside, Amelie hastily turned around, eyes wide. This was his territory now.

"That was very stupid of you." The General growled. "You do _not_ want me to get mad. You almost made me look bad in front of my men. You are getting very close the edge of my patience."

"It's not my fault that you forced yourself on me." Amelie stated calmly.

"Do NOT test my patience!" The General snarled. "You are lucky you're even alive right now! If you cause any more problems for me, I seriously doubt you'll make it to land, girl."

And with that, he stormed out of the room, locking the door again behind him.

'Why did I do that?' Amelie scolded herself, tears falling again. 'Am I even trying to survive?' Amelie questioned herself. 'Not really' she concluded.

Locked up, and alone, Amelie curled up on the ground, sobbing. 'I don't want to live…' Amelie thought. 'But I don't want to die either…where does that leave me now?'

Author's Note: Sorry. I'm so sorry. This chapter was not happy either. *sob* I didn't mean to make the General (Arthur, no duh) so cruel, but...I kinda needed Amelie to hate him for a while, so...

You see my point?

Yeah, please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Amelie awoke the next morning, still curled up on the floor. The air was chilly but moist, making her shiver. Sitting up, Amelie groggily rolled the sleep from her eyes.

She heard the distant sound of bells ringing, birds gawking, and men shouting.

Amelie sprang up, rejuvenated by the morning air. 'So this is England?' Amelie thought.

Amelie raced out the door, too excited to notice that the door was unlocked. She was welcomed by a blast of cold air to her face. Men raced across deck, preparing the ship for docking. The English port bustled below them, swarming with noise and action.

Amalie gaped at the scene, a stupid grin plastered on her face. She'd never seen so many people!

Her attention was brought back aboard deck to the stoic General. Hands on hips, he ordered everyone about efficiently, cutting no slack for those who fell behind.

The fear she had for him grasped her limbs again, and she was left an immobile statue. The General spotted her, and gave her a weird look before sauntering over, lopsided smirk showing through on his boyish face.

His expression darkened as he neared her, noticing her wide eyes and fearful stance.

"How's my little girl doing?" the General purred, tugging her lock of red hair.

"Fine." Amelie replied, tight lipped. She tried to ignore his wandering hands, knowing if she pushed them away, she'd only be punished.

'Please stop.' Amelie prayed, eyes raised to heaven 'Leave me alone!'

"We'll be spending quite a lot of time together." The General continued. "I'm making you my personal assistant in the castle."

Amelie's eyes shot wide with horror.

Seeing her shocked expression, he smiled cruelly. "Oh, yes" he purred. "Then you'll be submissive to me _all the time_, no questions."

Amelie tried hide how upset she was. She stared at her bare feet, covered in grime.

The General smiled at her, childishly delighted. "See," he said. "Being submissive won't be so hard. You're doing excellent right now. Just stay quiet, and you'll stay alive." He chucked, walking away from her.

Amelie sat glumly on the banister now, not knowing what to do but watch the crew dock the ship. She considered trying to make another run for it, but she didn't know where to run too. Plus, if he'd gone after her once, the General would go after her again.

With the ship docked, he General swayed back up to her, taking her by the elbow. "Come with me," he smirked "I'll take you to where you can get cleaned up and more presentable."

Amelie's heart sank as she was dragged along with him. She felt disgusted touching the man. How on earth was she supposed to become his assistant?

Amelie was hauled into the cheering crowd. Wives, and children swarmed around their returning family members, tears in their eyes.

Amelie was momentarily pricked with emotion, until she remembered whom the crowd was sobbing for.

The General pushed Amelie along in front of him, scanning the crowd. Evidently, he found whom he was searching for, because he suddenly tugged Amelie to the side. Amelie stumbled, squished and stepped on by the congested crowd. Amelie winced when some woman's pompous heel smashed her bare foot.

Finally, the General came to the stop at an ornate carriage. A woman in an elegant dress and a polite smile stood waiting outside the door, looking very out of place compared to the rest of the screaming crowd.

"Prince Arthur," the woman said formally. "Welcome home. Your mother is expecting you in her rooms shortly." She held the carriage door open for him, and turned to Amelie, who she eyed skeptically.

"Thank you, Mrs. Skept." The General replied. He retook Amelie's arm. "This is my new assistant. She'll be working in the castle as my servant. I'm trusting you to teach her how to attend me properly."

"Of course." Mrs. Skept replied easily, curtseying low to him. "It's at the top of my priorities."

The Prince, and General, swung easily into the carriage, shutting the door behind him. Once the door closed, Mrs. Skept turned to Amelie, grin wide on her face.

"Welcome to England!" she beamed. "You can call me Elizabeta! I'm the Queen's lady servant."

Taking her arm, Elizabeta smiled kindly at her now. "I know what the Prince has probably done to you, and I'm sorry for that. It must have been horrible. He's brought back women before from his crusades, so you're not alone in that sense. Now that you'll be a servant in the castle, it won't be as easy for him to find you." Elizabeta finished. "Just stick with me," Elizabeta winked "and I'll make sure he can't touch you again!"

Taken aback by Elizabeta's enthusiasm and kindness, Amelie gave Elizabeta a watery smile. "Thank you," she whispered, whipping tears from her eyes. "That's probably the best thing anyone could have told me today."

Elizabeta gave her a tight hug. "We'd better get going now. I'll get you all cleaned up when we get to the castle."

Elizabeta pulled Amelie up beside her at the front of the carriage.

"Do you know how the…Prince is going to work me?" Amelie stumbled over the word Prince –the General just didn't seem like one.

"Well," Elizabeta sighed, tugging the reins in a little tighter. "He'll probably say you're his lady servant, or some crap like that. People in those positions basically just follow their person around all day. You deliver messages to people, open the doors for them, get them drinks, that sort of thing." Elizabeta smiled. "That's what I do for the Queen. It's not that bad. The bonus is that you don't do any physically hard work. Actually, it's nice. You get to wear nice clothes, stay inside most of the time, and eavesdrop on pretty much all their conversations!"

Elizabeta wiggled her eyebrows at Amelie "You get to know all the dirt of the kingdom when you're the Queen's servant."

Amelie giggled. That did seem kind of nice. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Signing, Amelie thought back to her home in France. 'Well, it's gone now.' She thought. 'I guess I don't have a place to go home to in France. I might as well stay here.'

"Oh!" Elizabeta squealed "and the food! I don't think all the royal family does this, but the Queen lets me have a little piece of whatever she's eating! It's sooooo good!" Elizabeta practically drooled. "You'll love it here!"

"So, where are you from Amelie?" Elizabeta asked, soaking a cloth in soapy liquid.

"Northern France." Amelie replied, dumping a bucket of warm water over her head.

"Where are you from?" she asked, taking the cloth to scrub the dirt off her arm.

"I'm actually from Hungary." Elizabeta sighed. "My husband got a job as the Queen's musician, so I came along with him."

"Oh." Amelie said. "You're awfully young to be married."

Elizabeta let out a tinkling laugh. "You'd think that, but when it's true love, age doesn't matter."

Amelie smiled at her. Elizabeta lathered her hands with soap, and proceeded to scrub Amelie's inked black hair.

"Wow…" Elizabeta grumbled. "How'd you get all this ink in your hair?"

Amelie blushed. "It was…an escape plan…"

"You actually tried to get away from the Prince?" Elizabeta laughed. "I've never heard of someone defying him before. You've got courage girl!"

"Yeah…" Amelie agreed. "Too bad I didn't _actually_ get away from him…"

"Well," Elizabeta pondered. "You said your family in France died. Where would you have gone besides England?"

"I don't know." Amelie sighed. "Honestly, I just wanted to get away from him at the time."

"Hmmm…" Elizabeta hummed in agreement. "He can be rather…possessive at times."

"Exactly!" Amelie shrieked. "He just won't leave me alone -"

Elizabeta's gasp halted Amelie's exclamation. "What?" Amelie asked. "What's wrong?"

"Your hair…" Elizabeta mumbled.

Amelie rolled her eyes. "Yeah yeah, I know my hair looks horrid. It hasn't been washed in forever and I was quite literally doused in ink, but still…" Amelie trailed off.

"No no no, not that," Elizabeta muttered. "This red streak in your hair. Where in France did you say you were from?"

"…the North?" Amelie mumbled. "I don't really know. I kinda…lived on a farm my entire life. Geography isn't exactly my forte…"

"Amelie. Why didn't you tell me you were a Bonneyfoy?" Elizabeta asked, scrutinizing Amelie's face.

"A _what_?" Amelie asked. "What on earth is a 'Bonneyfoy'?"

Elizabeta gasped. "You don't know? How can you not know? Everyone in the Bonneyfoy family has this red streak in their hair. The Bonneyfoy's are a very powerful and influential family in France – they infuse all their weapons with potent magic."

'Magic?' Amelie thought. "So, are they considered witches and wizards?"

"Umm hum." Elizabeta smiled, grinning more now. "Oh, Amelie, this is wonderful! You may actually be able to go back to France now!"

"Wait, what? Why?!" Amelie asked, curious now.

"You're a Bonneyfoy!" Elizabeta shrieked in happiness, clapping her hands together. "They're _very_ close to French royalty. As soon as they find out England is holding a member of their family hostage, the Bonneyfoy will plead the French royalty to demand your release. The French royalty will have no choice but to demand just that; they won't dare risk pissing off a group of magicians, especially one's that build the weapons for the royalty themselves!"

"That does sound wonderful," Amelie stuttered. "Except that no one in the Bonneyfoy family even knows I exist."

"What? Why?" Elizabeta asked, put out. "They're your family, right?"

"Well, apparently they are." Amelie stated. "I was orphaned when my parents were hit by the Plague. The people I grew up with weren't actually my family." Amelie explained. "I guess the Bonneyfoy's assumed I died with my parents when I was a baby."

"Oh." Elizabeta pouted. "That makes this a little harder."

"Yeah." Amelie agreed. 'How are we going to notify the Bonneyfoy's of my existence?' Amelie thought. "So, are we trying to hide the fact that I'm a Bonneyfoy from the English?" Amelie asked. "I feel like if they knew, they'd try to cover up any of my attempts to be noticed by the French."

"That's true." Elizabeta said slowly. "We can't let anyone know you're a Bonneyfoy."

**Author's Note:** Yeah...I needed to introduce some more characters... Please let me know and tell me what you think? Any preferences for incoming characters?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"There…that should do it." Elizabeta stated, dusting the coal off her fingers.

Amelie sneezed. Now, the red streak in her hair was coated with coal dust, turning it a dull brown.

"No one will even notice." Elizabeta breathed, tucking the darker lock into Amelie's bun.

"Thanks," Amelie said, taking a deep breath. "Should I brave this new world now?"

Smiling, Elizabeta pushed her out the door. "You'll be fine. When in doubt, don't say anything. Silence is safety here."

That reminded Amelie of what the Prince had told her earlier. "_Just stay quiet, and you'll stay alive._" Amelie shuttered.

Amelie scooted stiffly out the door. She wasn't used to wearing a bodice this tight, much less shoes with heels. Wobbling all the way, Amelie made her way to the Royal Hall. 'This place is freaking huge…' Amelie thought sourly.

Elizabeta had described the layout of the house to her, but Amelie's mental map wasn't quite coming together. All the hallways looked the same to her.

'Uh… I think I turn here…' Amelie thought.

Evidently not; a small girl who looked to be about six years old sat in the middle of the carpeted room. Toys radiated out from her long braided pigtails.

'Wrong way' Amelie panicked. Hopefully the girl didn't notice her.

"Hey!" A high-pitched voice called. "Come back here!"

Amelie nervously slid back into the room. "Sorry, I think I took a wrong turn." Amelie said clearly. "Could you tell me where the Royal Hall is?"

"You're a servant, and you don't even know where the largest room in the house is?" the girl sighed. "That's pathetic. But don't worry, Princess Rose is here to save you!" the girl skipped up to her, taking Amelie's hand. "What's your name?" she asked sweetly.

"Amelie." Amelie replied. "Thank you for taking me to the Royal Hall Princess Rose."

"No problem!" the girl beamed. "I honestly have nothing better to do around here. Everything's so boring!"

Amelie chuckled. "I'll play with you when I have some free time." Amelie promised. Princess Rose glowed. "That would be glorious!" her eyes widened. "Can I braid your hair when you come over? My servants never let me braid their hair, but they always braid mine… We can do each other's hair!"

"Okay." Amelie agreed. "I'll let you braid my hair."

Princess Rose stopped when they reached a large door. "I can't go inside there. Mommy always gets mad at me when I interrupt her."

"That's fine." Amelie reassured her. "I can go in alone. Thank you for helping me again."

"Promise to see me after?" Rose pleaded, green eyes identical to her older brother's widening.

"Promise." Amelie said, crossing her heart with her finger. She tugged on the large brass handles, and stepped into the unknown.

Amelie stood quietly in the corner of the room, unsure where to look. There was definitely plenty to look at: the ceiling was at least a hundred feet high, decorated elaborately with gold plating and rich paintings. White Romanesque pillars supported the arches, all decorated with gold crests and emblems.

But the most stunning thing of all was the Throne itself. Staged in the back of the hall, the closer you got, the more massive it seemed. Perched atop red-carpeted stair, the ornately carved wood was integrated with flecks of gold, precious gems, and silver.

And on top of that, the Queen sat. Clothed in floral and lace, she lazily swept the feathery fan below her eyes. She watched everything going on in the room, painted face puckered with interest.

Amelie fidgeted, she could swear the Queen was staring at her right at that moment. Though she was standing along the back wall with the rest of the servants, she felt exposed.

In front of her, a grand table dominated the center of the room, seating at least twenty elegantly dressed military men. Prince Arthur was amongst them, leaning back in his chair. A map of the world, centered on England, was the topic of interest.

"Your Highness," one man said, standing up "We cannot stretch out this war any longer! It has been almost a century, and we have accomplished very little. We need to pull our men back!"

"But if we do that," another one spoke up, "we'll lose all that we've gained. We have made some progress, and I promise we're only a few short months away from capturing Paris. We must finish out this war that we've started. Otherwise, all the men we've lost have been for naught."

The Queen nodded at this last suggestion. "Only a few more months you say?" she questioned. "I can grant you that much time. It'll take that long to pull all our men back out anyway. General Grant, you have four months to capture Paris. If Paris is not ours then, I'm pulling all our troops out."

The Queen slammed her scepter down, finalizing her decision. The meeting was at a close.

Prince Arthur stretched, and pulled out of his chair. Amelie opened the doors for him when he walked up to her, and she followed behind him, keeping her eyes down.

Prince Arthur snorted. "This is dumb. Now I'm going to have to go back to France soon. Probably in a couple months or something…" he muttered. "And I was just beginning to enjoy the luxuries of being home again!" he whined, folding both his arms behind his head.

"You can leave now." Prince Arthur turned back to Amelie. "I have a private meeting in my room. Be back at six to serve dinner."

"Yes, Sir." Amelie turned away, already retracing her steps back to Prince Rose's room.

'That wasn't so bad.' Amelie concluded. 'If I just don't talk to him, it's okay.'

Amelie knocked on the wall before entering the comfortable room.  
"You came!" Princess Rose squealed, jumping off her massive bed. "For a while there I thought you weren't ever going to come back!" Rose hugged Amelie around her thighs.

"I had to escort your brother to his room." Amelie explained. "But I'm here now." She broke into a grin.

"Stupid Arthur." Princess Rose pouted. "He's always so demanding! And he never plays with me!" Rose complained. "That's why I like you, Amelie." Rose added. "Now let's do our hair!"

"Of course, Princess." Amelie said, grabbing the brush Rose offered to her. The golden handle weighted the instrument. 'Geez,' Amelie thought 'I wish I had a hair brush like this…'

She brushed out the golden locks of the little girl, gently stroking the silken material. Rose hummed in content, eyes closed in pleasure.

Amelie skillfully wove the strands together, creating two identical French braids. Amelie tied the ends with pieces of twine she got from her apron pocket. "There," Amelie said. "Now it's my turn."

"Okay," Rose said sleepily. "That felt really good."

Amelie took her hair out of the bun, letting the strands fall loosely along her back and shoulders.

Rose took her brush and began to straighten the strands of Amelie's hair. "Your hair's weird." Rose mumbled. "It's got this brown streak in it."

"Uh huh." Amelie replied. "I was born with it."

"That's cool." Rose yawned. "Wait. Your hair's rubbing off on my fingers…" Rose said, suddenly more alert. "Is this coal?" She asked, rubbing the reddish strand of Amelie's hair.

"Umm… yes." Amelie said, unable to lie to a six year old.

"You're a Bonneyfoy?" Rose asked, disbelieving. "My mommy told me about those. You're really powerful, aren't you?"

Amelie sighed. So much for keeping that a secret… "Yes, I'm a Bonneyfoy, but I'm not powerful at all. That's why I get to work at the castle, because I'm useless to my family." Amelie lied. "Now you can't tell anyone, or I won't get to play with you anymore. Your mommy might fire me." Amelie explained.

"I don't want you to leave." Rose complained. "I won't tell mommy, don't worry."

'Thank God,' Amelie thought.

**Author's Note:** Yeah...I kinda wanted to bring some magic into the story (forgive me, I'm in love with fantasy!)


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Amelie's POV

I turned the corner of the hall, expertly dodging the armor display awaiting me on the other side. I hadn't even been here a full day, and I was already accepted into the castle's routine.

I was now carrying dinner to Prince Arthur (the baster, who can't pick up his own food). The heavy metal tray lay rested on my shoulder as I gently knocked on his door.

Someone let out a groan inside, so I took that as a positive to enter. Bracing myself, I pushed open the door to find Prince Arthur laying sprawled across a chair, head lolled back. He looked like such a teenager!

Taken aback for a second, I hesitated in the doorway.

Clearing my throat, I asked: "Where do you want me to put down your food?"

Prince Arthur jolted upright, startled by my voice. He pointed pathetically over to a small table, cluttered with papers.

'Okay…' Amelie thought.

I cleared off the table, aware that he was watching me with hawk-like-intensity the entire time. When I had stacked the papers and placed them on his desk across the room, I looked up to find him still staring at me.

"Your dinner's here." I said, pointing at the tray laden with food for emphasis.

'Stop staring at me you creep, and eat the damn food.' I scolded him in my mind.

"Amelie," Arthur started, fidgeting in his chair. "Are you a Bonneyfoy?"

'Crap!' I thought. I could have sworn I had re-covered the red streak in my hair with coal! How did he know?

Seeing my shocked expression, he hastily stood up to reassure me. "It's fine if you are, really!" he said. "I just need to know for sure…" he trailed off.

"How did you know?" I stuttered.

He looked at me with concerned brows. "I've seen the red streak in your hair. I didn't think anything of it a week ago, but my sister brought it up, actually. She thought it was odd."

'Rose!' I thought. Damn I was furious. 'She promised me!'

'_Actually, she promised she wouldn't tell the Queen,' _my subconscious answered.

'_She didn't actually break her promise_.'

I guess that much was true. Still trying to hide my fury, I asked him "Are you going to tell the Queen?"

"Heaven's no!" Prince Arthur sputtered. "If she knew I'd fucked a Bonneyfoy, she'd have my head on a platter!"

'Oh.' I thought sarcastically. 'Put so elegantly, I almost believe you…'

"So you won't tell her." 'That's good' I thought.

Prince Arthur nodded in confirmation. "Actually, I need to get you out of here. If anyone finds out what you are, you'll be held for ransom."

'Just like Elizabeta said...'

"If that happens," Arthur was pacing now "It's possible the French would even invade England to get you back!"

"Whoa whoa whoa!" I shouted. "What makes you think the French army would invade England just for _me_?"

Prince Arthur stopped pacing, and looked at me. "You really don't know how powerful you are, do you?" he muttered.

"Okay," I sighed, exasperated. "Say I was really powerful. Even then, the Bonneyfoy don't even know I'm alive. I bet they all think I'm dead."

"They do?" Arthur questioned "Oh yes, they do, don't they. That family you were living with wasn't Bonneyfoy, which is why I didn't recognize you as a Bonneyfoy at the time. Bonneyfoy always live in large groups…So why weren't you with your family?"

"They died." I said simply. "When I was a baby, I was brought over to the neighboring farm to be raised. I guess the rest of my real family just forget about me, and assumed I'd died with the rest of the people I was living with."

"Oh." The Prince said, brows crinkling in concern. "I'm sorry."

I gaped at him. 'Did he actually say sorry to me?'

"Anyway," the Prince continued "we need to get you back to your fellow Bonneyfoy's. The longer you stay here, the more likely it will be that the Queen will discover your identity. And if my Mom finds out who you are, you'll be held for ransom, or worse imprisoned and forced to build us weapons."

'Imprisoned and forced to build you weapons?' I thought. 'I've never built anything in my life! Sir, I will gladly build the English sucky weapons. It would be my pleasure to watch the French slaughter your men when the weapons fail on the battle field!'

"Why are you helping me?" I asked cautiously.

"Well," Prince Arthur said. "I owe you. Also, if you happened to be pregnant, that would really suck for me. So honestly, it's in my best interest to get rid of you as soon as possible."

'Oh.' I thought. 'At least he's taking responsibility for his actions. Sort of…'

Suddenly fury overtook me. Was I actually going to accept help from him?

"You know what? I don't want your help! You raped me; you kidnapped me from my home, and killed my adoptive family. Now you expect me to do you a favor by going along with your plan, staying quiet so your secret doesn't get out?" I shouted. "No! I'll get back to France on my own, thank you. Just stay out of this."

"Well, I can't stay out of this now." He sighed in exasperation. "I'm already too involved in this. I brought you to England, and it's my responsibility to bring you back, a Prince's word." He commanded, staring me down. "Why can't you just accept my help?"

I scrutinized him. "I don't trust you." I finally stated, turning my back on him.

"Enjoy your dinner, sir."

I stepped towards the door, but he blocked my way, trapping me in his room.

'Oh no,' I panicked. This was all too familiar.

"I need you to trust me Amelie." Arthur pleaded. I felt my heartbeat quicken. "I'm sorry for what I did to you in the past. I hope you understand that I didn't know who you truly were. I will never act that way again around you."

I stared up into his green eyes, trying to deceiver the emotions I saw there.

"I'm sorry." I whispered. "But I can't forgive you. Please let me leave."

Finally, the Prince let me slip out the door behind him. I scurried away to the Servants Quarters, confused and in a disarray of emotions.

"What?!" Elizabeta shrieked. "Two people know!"

"It's not that bad," I reassured Elizabeta. "Both promised to not let the Queen know."

"Who are they?" Elizabeta panted, looking like she were about to faint. "Hopefully not royalty…"

"Uh…they kinda both are." I confessed. "Princess Rose and Prince Arthur both know."

Elizabeta groaned in frustration. "I thought for sure covering up your hair would work…"

"It did," I said. "It's just, Rose wanted to brush my hair, and I said she could. It was a stupid mistake, I know. The coal rubbed out. But, she really wanted to brush my hair, and she was being so sweet to me."

"And how did Prince Arthur find out." Elizabeta asked with a raised brow.

"Rose told him." I whimpered.

"Uh huh." Elizabeta sighed. "That Rose has a wide mouth. Well, I guess we'll just have to move you from the castle, or else word will spread for sure. I'll see if I can get you to work in the stables or something."

I sighed. "Will I still get to see you?" I asked.

Elizabeta turned to me, and enveloped me into a hug when she saw my tearful expression. "Of course, darling. I'll make sure to see you. Sundays we have off. We can spend all Sunday's together. How does that sound?" she asked, patting my cheeks.

"Fine." I sniffed. "I know I've only known you for a little bit, but I already feel like you're family Elizabeta. Thank you for making me feel at home."

Elizabeta gave me a watery smile. "I feel the same way," She said. "Come, let's get to sleep. It's late now. We need to find you a new job tomorrow…"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Amelie's POV

"Wake up." Elizabeta hissed, and promptly pushed me out of our shared bad. I collapsed onto the floor in a jumbled heap of blanket and me.

Groaning, I followed her into the hall where the other female servants were lining up to use the water fountain.

I rubbed my eyes, and attempted to finger comb my hair, detangling a few strands before it was my turn to wash up.

Refreshed, I followed Elizabeta back to our room where I half-heartedly dressed in my pink servants outfit, slipping the white stockings on over my naked legs.

Elizabeta shoved me out of the room, up two narrow flights of stairs, and into the kitchen. I was given five minutes to swallow a muffin and burn my tongue on some tea.

Panting to cool my burning tongue, I was handed a tray laden with food and drink and promptly turned out into the castle.

For a while I followed a stream servants bringing similar trays to their assigned officials and nobles.

When it was my turn, I knocked gently on Prince Arthur's door, masking my face.

He opened it immediately, still dressed in his nightgown. I averted my eyes from him, and instead choose to look at the ground.

He took the tray from me, careful to not touch my hands. "Thank you Amelie," He muttered. It was as if last night hadn't even happened.

Resting the tray on his hip, he leaned against the doorway, waiting for me to say something.

"Good morning, sir." I stammered. "Did you sleep well?"

Arthur hummed. "I don't know. I spent most of the night thinking about you. It seems to me the safest place for you to be would probably be in the stables. The boys working down there are friendly, and you won't be bothered by the Queen. It's just my brother and I that hang around there."

"You have a brother?" I exclaimed.

"Yes. He's younger than me. What of it?" Prince Arthur asked, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

"I just didn't know." I stuttered.

"We don't talk about Alfred much." Arthur sniffed. "He's got a lame leg."

"Oh." I said. I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. "Maybe I should go down there to meet him."

Nodding in agreement, Arthur said: "I was thinking of going riding later today. If you'd like to meet Alfred, we can go down there together. He hangs around the forgery a lot, and with the horses."

"Okay," I said. "When should you expect me back here?"

"Mmm…In an hour or so."

I nodded, and then retreated back to my quarters.

"Ah, here we are." Arthur pointed to the settlement of stone buildings ahead.

I'd walked behind him, probably making him feel awkward, but I didn't want to walk next to him, much less in front of him in case he tried something. Really, I just wanted him where I could see him.

"Cool." I said.

Off to one side of a small clearing, a forge smocking with activity, bursting with flames and hot weapons. On the other side, several elongated buildings with wide doors housed at least three dozen horses, all pampered and well cared for.

In short, it looked like a man-cave.

I walked into the forge, curiosity pricked. "Do you guys make all your weapons here?" I asked Arthur innocently.

Arthur's bark of laughter startled me. "Most of us do, but I just steal my weapons." Arthur patted the sword sheathed at his hip. "This was made by the Bonneyfoy's." Arthur smirked at me.

I turned away from him in disgusted. 'If I could get my hands on one of those…' I started, shaking my head.

"I would love to get myself another one of these," Arthur continued, oblivious to my stink-eye. He pulled the gleaming weapon from its scabbard, caressing the hilt lightly. "It's integrated with unparalleled magic. The Bonneyfoy are the best weapon masters in the world…" Arthur trailed off.

"Here, take it." Arthur paused, extending the weapon out to me. "You can feel the magic, probably even better than I can, since you're a Bonneyfoy."

I stared at the sword offered to me. Was he seriously offering me sword? My, my, how the tables had turned.

I took the weapon cautiously, not wanting to seem over-eager. The metal sparked when it touched my skin, and the weight became a feather to me. With perfect balance, I flexed the sword slowly, twirling around. I marveled at how it hardly hindered my movements at all. With a gasp, I realized the pain in my arm was completely gone. I griped the hilt tighter.

With a sudden lunge, I leapt towards the Prince, forcing him against the forge wall. His green eyes wide, his breathing audible quickened. He stared at me crouching over him, frozen.

'I could kill him right now.' I thought. But something was holding me back.

Arthur saw me hesitate, and took advantage of my stupor.

He flashed me a winning smile. "Thank God! For a second, I thought you were actually going to kill me!" he stammered.

"I'm seriously thinking about it." I growled. I pointed the sword tip back to his throat. He immediately stilled, regarding me with cautious eyes.

"I would not do that if I were you." He started slowly. "You need me if you want to survive. Think about it. I can get you back home."

I hesitated. I didn't really want to kill him. Even after everything he'd done to me, he didn't deserve to die. Plus, what he said was true.

This man had rekindled my hope of seeing my family again. Not the one lost in the Plague, or earlier in the week with the invasion, but my living, breathing family members.

I removed my elbow from his gut, lowering the sword. "Will you actually get me to my real family?" I asked, sincere.

"Certainly." Arthur replied. "On my honor, I will get you back to France, Amelie."

"Hey Arthur! Bro!" a man hollered from across the clearing, hobbling. "Do you need some help? That's a pretty intense brawl going on there!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, clearly none to pleased to see the new arrival.

"Hi Alfred." He sounded bored.

"Helloooo…" Alfred said, finally making it up to us. He eyed me up and down. "Hello Miss. Nice to meet you. I'm Prince Alfred. Just call me Alfred though." He stuck his hand out to me, something no one had ever done before. I took it hesitantly. He took it enthusiastically, nearly breaking my arm off with his overly powerful greeting. "What's your name?" he asked cheerful, oblivious to me massaging my arm.

"Amelie." I stated.

"Hi Amelie." He greeted me for the third time. "That's a very pretty name. French?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes," I answered, already being swept in to his bubble of optimism.

"Awesome! A Frenchie! Do you eat a lot of frogs and gross stuff like that?" Alfred asked, suddenly concerned.

"No," I said, laughing now. "That's just a stereotype. Actually, I really like apples."

"Apples!" Alfred beamed. Man, this guy loved repeating everything I said. "I love apples too! 'An apple a day keeps the medic away.'" He recited.

"That's lovely." Arthur drawled, interrupting our happy dialogue. "Alfred, do you know if the stable boys need an extra hand? I believe Ms. Amelie would be much happier working in the stables than in the castle."

Alfred frowned. "I don't think so." He said, scratching his chin. "Actually, I think we're a little overfull on stable boys. Sorry." He shrugged.

My heart sank just a little bit. Where was I going to work then?

Suddenly an idea sparked. "What about the forge?" I piped up. "Do they need any more help?"

"Uhh…" Alfred looked at me questionably. "Do you really think that's a good idea? I mean, the forge is really physically demanding. It's not easy." _Especially for a girl,_ his undertone said.

"I'm a hard worker." I reassured him. "What do you think Prince Arthur? Would this be satisfactory?" I challenged him. Arthur was looking at me with intense concern. I knew inside his head a miniature war was waging, but I was impatient.

"I'll take that as a yes." I finished for him. "Thanks guys!" I beamed at them. Both were looking at me with expressions of shock.

Evidently, they were both sharing a moment of "Oh shit. This was not supposed to happen."

Smiling like there was no tomorrow, I skipped away from them before they could revoke 'their' decision.

**Author's Note**: Oh *wipes tear* those two crack me up... Yay! Alfred's here now! On a completely separate note, are there any other characters that you guys request make appearances? Later on in the story, Amelie will be...traveling for a bit, so I can make her meet pretty much anyone. Any ideas? Please review and tell me!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Amelie's POV

"So, you're going to work in the forge now," Elizabeta concluded, "but you're still going to sleep here."

"Uh huh." I smiled brightly. "I'm actually pretty excited! It'll be an entirely different experience…"

"You do know that, you have to like, wear pants, right?" Elizabeta ventured.

'Wow.' I thought. 'I'll be working with burning metal surrounded by sweaty men, and you're worried about what I'll be _wearing?_ You have your priorities straight.'

"Yes," I said. "Pants. Oh crap. Pants! Where am I going to get pants!?" I shouted. "I can't possibly wear a dress there, that'll just spontaneously combust if I brush against anything hot!" I clung to Elizabeta now. "Who do I ask?"

"Don't worry." Elizabeta said soothingly. "I'll ask my husband if he has any extras. I'll be right back." She slipped out the door. Wow. Sometimes I forgot she even had a husband. She never talked about him. I heard her quiet footsteps coming back from the stairwell.

"Here you go!" Elizabeta shouted, flashing me a huge smile. "Pants-a-la-Amelie!" She threw the brown breeches at me, making me my own personal pants-tent. I held them up in front of me.

"Fascinating…" I muttered. Slipping them on, I marveled at the feeling of something between my legs. They were a little big, but when I tied a string around my waist, I think they fit better. It felt a little weird, wearing something so clingy, but it was something I could get used to.

Breaking into a grin, I lunged across the room, awed by my new mobility. "Why don't women wear these?" I wondered aloud. "They feel awesome!"

I pivoted around the room, and then kicked my leg over my head, laughing all the while. Elizabeta laughed with me.

"I don't know. Probably because everyone' sexist, and men get to dictate what women wear." Elizabeta shrugged. "Let's go to bed, it's late. You've got a big day tomorrow, Ms. Forge."

"Tongs." I repeated, grasping the named tool. "So I don't burn myself. Got it."

Alfred frowned at me. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. "I'm sure I can find you an easier, less sweaty, and dangerous job."

"Nope." I said. "I've set my mind to it now." Alfred had taken it upon himself to my personal guide around the forge. Honestly, I think he felt guilty for releasing me on all the other workers in the forge. He was probably trying to contain my 'female madness.'

"What's that called?" I asked, pointing to the fiery pit, glowing orange with steam.

"The Hearth." Alfred replied, leaning against the wall. "You sure I can't talk you out of this?" he asked again, pleading me know. "I'd feel a lot more comfortable if you weren't working with fire."

"Why?" I said. "Scared I can't control it?" I joked. We'd become fast friends.

Alfred just stared at me.  
"Come on!" I gave an exasperated sigh. "At least give me a chance! You haven't let me even _try_ to make something yet!"

"I know…" he said, head lolling back. "I just…I don't know! Fine! If you say you'll do it, you can do it, just promise me you'll be very, very, careful." Alfred warned.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Okay _Mom_." I said. "Will you let me play with my fire toys now?"

Alfred glared at me, shaking his head. "This is not a joke, Amelie. People get seriously injured doing this kind of work. I hurt my leg doing some metal work here, and now I can't walk on it."

'Whoa.' I thought, suddenly taken aback. 'Are you serious?'

I turned back to him, sober now. "I'm sorry. I didn't know this was such a sensitive subject for you." I said. No wonder he was so against me trying to learn this.

"No problem," Alfred said, giving me a tight smile. "That was years ago. I understand your attraction to the forge," he said. "That's why I come back every day. I love tinkering."

"Oh." I said. "You like to build stuff?"

"Yeah," Alfred gaped at me, enthusiasm returning to his composure. "Want me to show you?"

"Sure," I grinned at him. Suddenly, he took my hand, and pulled me deeper into the forge, leaning heavily on his crutch.

'How sad,' I thought, staring at his crutch 'to be hurt doing something you love…'

In the corner of the room, smaller hearth lay separated from the rest of the room, isolating a collection of various weapons.

Alfred threw his arms up over his head, momentarily loosing his balance. "Welcome to Alfred's forge!" he boomed, and then spontaneously rolled into a fit of laughter. I laughed along with him, fascinated by this kinky, but fun Prince.

"You have your own little hearth…" I commented.

"Yep." Alfred said, beaming at the stone structure. "I built it myself. It's nice being able to have your own; I get to set the temperature just how I like it, and no one messes it up because it's all mine."

"That's cool." I said. "Did you make this?" I asked, picking up a blue-hilted sword hanging on the wall.

"Uh huh. It took me a couple months to get the shape of the blade right, but I am proud to say that that's probably my best work!" He puffed out his chest, glowing with happiness.  
"Well," I said. "I guess I have a good eye for worthy work." I applauded him. "Do you think I can try making a sword now?"

Sobering up again, Alfred ceased his laughter. "I guess so…Use my forge, it's smaller and easier to control. Here, I'll show you how to get this baby fired up…"

Alfred proceeded to get the coal in the forge burning at a toasty temperature.

"Now," Alfred said. "For a good sword, you have to have good metal first. I'll show you the scrap house. It's where we keep all the metal."

Alfred walked off to a low stone shack. From inside, he called: "the best sword metal is always the darkest! There is more sediment in the darker one's, so they're stronger. Look at this one…" Alfred pulled a chunk out to show her. The black rock glinted in the sunlight, reflecting into my eyes. I squinted at it.

"Okay," I said. "I think I got it." I smiled at him, passing him in the doorway in search of my own metal.

I rummaged around for a few minutes, picking up chunks here and there, but to me, most all them seemed the same.

Frowning at the heaps of metal around me, I sat down for a minute. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, inhaling the sooty scent of my surroundings.

Through my closed eyes, I saw a spark out of the corner of my vision. I opened my eyes, and turned my head, wondering where the light was coming from.

But the scrap-room was as dark as it had been before. Cocking my head to one side, I closed my eyes again, this time facing the direction I thought I'd seen the light come from.

Sure enough, there it was again, twinkling dully straight in front of me. Shuffling my feet so I wouldn't trip, I went up the glowing object. When I opened my eyes, a block of white rock lay innocently in front of me. Was this what I was seeing?

I hefted the metal into my hands, weighing it. To my surprise, it was deceptively light, and better yet, sparked in my hands.

Excited, I clambered out of the scrap-room, certain I'd found the perfect metal.

"I found some metal." I said to Alfred, who was leaning asleep outside the door. 'Geez,' I thought. 'I didn't take that long.'

"Great…" Alfred jolted awake, yawning. He looked at the white metal in my hands, and rubbed his eyes again.

"Uh…you do know I said the darker metal was the best, right?" he said, blinking up at her. "Did I forget to say that?"

"No," I said. "But I'd like to use this."

"O-kay then" Alfred muttered. "Whatever makes you happy, lady…"

"Right, next," Alfred said, clasping his hands together. "We get to melt the metal. Just place that block in one of these trays, like this…and slide it into the hearth."

"And now the waiting game begins, right?" Amelie asked, turning to Alfred.

"Pretty much," he said, leaning back against the wall.

"Well, I'm curious about some things…" Amelie started. "For one, how old are you and your brother? Arthur said you were younger than him, but it's hard for me to tell how young…"

"I'm 17." Alfred said. "Arthur's 20. I know right? He's the youngest General we have, but damn he's good at it." Alfred sighed. "Sometimes I wish I could go out in the field."

I looked at Alfred sympathetically, watching as he unconsciously rubbed his lame leg.

"You don't need to go out in the field." I said. "There are enough stupid men fighting each other as it is. No point getting yourself killed over it." I smiled.

"True, true," he acknowledged my point. "How old are you?" he asked "If you don't mind me asking," he added hastily, looking a little sheepish.

"I'm 17 also." I said, grinning at him. "Unlike you're brother, we can still act like stupid _teenagers._"

Alfred laughed musically, making me smile. Shaking his head, he said: "I've got it easy. My Mom lets me do pretty much whatever I want. It's Arthur I worry about." He sighed.

"It's so much harder for him. Being the oldest, all this expectation is on his shoulders. I don't have any of that pressure." Alfred said contently. "I'm a free spirit!"

"Has the metal melted yet?" I interrupted, noticing the rising steam.  
"Oh yeah, shoot I almost forgot" Alfred got up, hopping over to the hearth. "Yeah, it's done. Go ahead and take your tongs and put it over on this metal bench." Alfred waved to the workbench.

I did as he told me, careful to avoid hitting anything with the hot metal.

"Nice and easy," Alfred said, leaning over my shoulder. "Pour it into that pan I set up there. It'll be the basic shape of your sword, and then we can shape if from there."

"We just let it cool now, right?" I asked, watching the orange metal cool to red.

"Yeah." Alfred said. "Although Arthur's always talking about some magic shit that 'amplifies the abilities of the sword.' Apparently you do that while it's cooling."

"Oh." I said. "I'm not sure if I can do magic."

"Eh," Alfred sighed. "Might as well try. Have fun with that; I'm going back to the castle to get something to eat. Come join me when you get tired of your 'magic.'"

"Okay," I turned away from him. 'Now what do I do?'

I didn't know any obvious magic, like a spell or something. Unsure, I sat at the stool under the bench, contemplating my options.

'I could sing to it' I thought. Nah, there was nothing magical about that. 'What if I just…touch it?' It had worked last time, I was sure. A spark had definitely ignited.

Uncertainly, I slipped my hand into a heavy mitted glove, and tentatively touched the surface of the congealing substance.

Nothing. No spark at all.

Frustrated, I threw the glove off. Ignoring every warning of 'this is stupid, stop it, you're going to hurt yourself' my brain was sending around my body, I stuck my naked hand into the metal.

It rippled around my hand, molding to it in a heartbeat. For a second, I felt the burning pain I should have experience, but it was instantly soothed.

The molten metal glowed, warping under my touch. Slowly, I slipped my other hand into the trough, feeling the energy under my palms increase. I exhaled, feeling the streams of blue running through my fingertips.

'See,' I shakily reassured myself. 'No burning.'

I stood there for what seemed like a few minutes, my eyes closed. When I finally began to feel the flow of energy stop, I removed my hands, opening my eyes.

To my surprise, I was not day anymore. And I was not alone.

Prince Arthur stood gaping at me from across the workbench, the moon shining brightly over his head.

With a shiver, I pulled my short-sleeved shirt tighter around my shoulders, suddenly aware of the cold.

"How did it get so late?" I muttered.

Arthur finally overcame his shock. "You do know you've been standing out here all day, right?" he accused. "It's like you were in a trance. Neither Alfred or I could get you to snap out of it!"

"What?" I said, wobbling on my feet. Suddenly, I felt unbelievably exhausted. My legs collapsed from underneath me, and in my panic, I lashed out, desperate to not fall.

Arthur caught me before I hit the ground, gently propping me up against the workbench.

"Hang in there, Amelie," he huffed. "I've got to get you back to the castle. You used up way more magical energy than what you're used too…"

His voice trailed off, into the darkness that consumed me.

** Author's Note:** Well that sounds fun.

In a few chapters, I realized Amelie will be meeting a large group of people (I won't say who they are/what they're doing): and they can literally be anyone. As of right now, I'll be choosing my favorite characters (including Prussia), but are their any others you'd like to see appear in this story? Please review and let me know!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Amelie's POV

I swear, those two had made a pact to babysit me all hours of the day. In the morning, Arthur made it his job to drop me off "safe and sound" at the forge (somehow, I was still stuck serving him breakfast in the mornings, ugh).

Alfred then proceeded to watch me from there, making sure I didn't drop a hammer on my foot or something (though I proved to him TIME AND TIME AGAIN that I was PERFECTLY ABLE TO LOOK AFTER MYSELF).

*Ahem.

Long story, short, those two won't. Leave. Me. Alone.

Except when I'm sleeping; they leave me alone then. Oh God, I just got this horrible image of them peeping through my window at night... *shudder. Maybe Elizabeta's a spy for them…

Nah, she's too nice. Plus, she totally sides with me that the Princes should leave me alone. Well, except for Alfred, he has a ligit reason to hang around me. After all, he's teaching me how to make my sword.

Which brings me to my next point:

After I kinda…fainted…(dramatically, into the arms of a Prince. I know: *barf), Arthur brought me back to my room (don't ask me how he knows where I sleep).

Honestly, I don't remember any of that. I just woke up and was told this by Elizabeta.

ANYWAY, I'm really confused now. I mean, I can do MAGIC? What? (Even if I faint after doing it…)

Ignoring that last part, magic is…exhilarating. I found my 'sword' (more 'hunk of metal' than 'sword' still), glowing. I'm proud to say that it still sparked when I touched it.

Alfred showed me how to shape it, tinkering out all the kinks and bubbles to shape it down to the core of the metal, where it's the strongest.

I've been working on that for…a few days now I guess. It's really exhausting. My arms are sore, and I can't feel my thumbs. Yay?

It looks awesome now (Yes, way cooler than Alfred's [and Arthur's]). Now I just need to make a hilt for it…that's what I'm doing today.

I trailed Arthur all the way to the Forge, contemplating different hilt designs all the way.

Interrupting my thoughts, Arthur asked: "Are you almost done with your sword?"

"Uh, yeah." I said, "I just need to put the hilt on it."

"Hmm." Arthur nodded. "I can teach you how to use it if you'd like."

I stopped walking. Noticing the distance growing between us, Arthur turned around, confused why I'd stopped.

"Are you serious?" I asked, voice an octave higher than normal.

"Yes." Arthur's brow crinkled. "Why would I lie to you?"

"I don't know." I sputtered. "I just didn't think a Prince of England, heir to the throne would teach some lowly peasant, much less a girl, how to swordfight in his free time. Don't get me wrong, I'd love it if you taught me, but…it just seems out of character."

Shrugging, he replied: "What's the use in making a sword if you can't fight with it?"

'Fair point.' I thought. "When do we start?" I was suddenly nervous.  
"As soon as you're finished making it." Arthur grinned a Cheshire smile.

I skipped ahead of him, eager to finish my project. "I'll call you over when I'm done!" I shouted over my shoulder. "Meet you in the clearing!"

Arthur was shaking his head, chuckling, and obviously amused by my enthusiasm.

**Author's Note:** Short but sweet - I'll have another chapter coming very soon (probably tomorrow :)

Please review: I'm having this horrible dilemma right now about (spoiler alert), a character dying in a few chapters. Think you can guess who? I can... (evil laugh). Now I'm just debating HOW to kill them (muahahahah) I feel evil...


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Amelie's POV

I raced into the castle, and jumped into the pants Elizabeta had given me. I had had no need to wear them the past few days because I hadn't been working with pouring any metal- there was no risk of me catching on fire.

Sprinting, I made it in record time back to the clearing between the Forge and Stables, panting heavily.

Arthur sat in the grass waiting for me, one impressive eyebrow raised.

Eyeing me up and down, he quickly concluded: "You need armor."

"What?" I said, noticing the pile of shining metal dumped by his feet. "There is no way I can wear that." I was sweating just looking at it!

"You're right." Arthur said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That stuff's way to heavy…tell you what, let's skip the whole armor and sword thing for now. We'll go old school for a bit and practice with sticks."

'Sticks? Seriously?"

"Okay," I shrugged. "You're the teacher…"

Prince Arthur returned a minute later, carrying a medium sized branch from the nearby forest. Snapping it over his thigh, he handed me one half.

"The first thing you need to practice is of course, your stance." He said, turning away from me. Placing one foot in front of the other, he crouched down, showing me the preferred way to do so.

I copied him. 'This already feels weird…' I grumbled

Suddenly, Arthur's brow crinkled. "I just realized, you're wearing pants…" he said, staring in fascination at my legs. "I thought something looked different."

"Eyes up here." I said.

His eyes instantly snapped up to mine, cheeks coloring. "Sorry." He whispered.  
I gave him a tight smile.

"Anyway," he shook his head. "Umm…hold your sword, I mean stick, like this." Arthur quickly corrected himself. "It should be loose in your grip." He added, noticing how tightly I was clenching it.

"That's better. Now, you're other hand is used for adding strength to your blows, or to keep your balance. If you're ever caught off balance, don't lean back – that's what your opponent wants you to do. Lean to the side, and try to duck under him. This'll use their weight against them, and they'll be the one put off balance."

Arthur strode up to me, and crossed his stick with mine, pushing lightly.

"Ready to try it?" He asked me. I nodded, a little unnerved by his closeness.

He pushed against me, hard. Staggered, I instinctively fell back. Arthur's head ticked to the side. 'Right, I'm to supposed to go back.' I scolded myself. 'Go around…'

I spun under his arm, unbalancing Arthur, and simultaneously kicked him in the back. He stumbled forward, but quickly flipped around, surprised.

"Nice." He said. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

I shrugged. "No where in particular. I did grow up with three brothers though."

He nodded in agreement. "Right. I forgot. You're quicker than you look."

"Thanks." I said. "Sometimes speed is your best weapon."

"Indeed" he agreed. "That brings me to my next point. If you every think you can't beat an opponent, your best option is to of course walk away. Or run away, either works. In your case, you're probably quicker than most men, so even if they catch you by surprise, just block one of their shots, and then get away as fast as you can."

I rolled my eyes at him. "If you're telling me to run away from everyone that's stronger than me, wouldn't that be all men?" I asked.

"Pretty much." Arthur said.

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of teaching me how to fight then?" I pressed.

"Well," Arthur said. "Sometimes you really just can't get away. For example, when I captured you in France."

My eyes darkened. "That was different." I said. "I didn't have a sword back then."

"True." Arthur said. "The concepts the same though. You couldn't get away."

"Okay, I get it." I huffed, moody.

"When you've established that you can't get away, you have to fight." Arthur sighed. "Put your stick up like this. This is being on guard. You always want to fall back to this position. It's the medium between attack and defense."

"When you're fighting an opponent one on one, it's in your best interest to watch them as much as you can beforehand, that way you learn which side they favor, their weak-spots, etc."

I stared at him, keen on this new insight. Scrutinizing him with new interest, I watched the way his feet crossed each other, padded boots making hardly any nose on the bark covered ground. I wasn't often invited to openly stare at someone. I noticed the way his hips swayed slightly when he walked. Blushing, I glared up at his face, only to find him looking right at me, giving me the eyebrow.

"Ready?" He asked. "Let's try learning on the job…"

He lunged at me, swinging his stick in a high arch over his head. Unthinkingly, I twisted out of his way, but he followed with a quick swing behind him. He clubbed me across the ribs, knocking my breath out.

Gasping, I scrambled away from him, my stick dragging in the dirt.

"That hurt!" I complained, massaging my aching ribs.

Arthur turned around. "I didn't say I would go easy on you." He smirked.

'Jerk!' I screamed in my mind. I instantly whirled on him, throwing fevering attacks at his head and torso.

He carelessly blocked all of them, looking like he could be drinking tea while he "fought" me. Fuming, I put all my strength into a stab, furious that he was just playing with me.

He blocked me, bringing our faces together. Before I could pull away, he leaned down and kissed me.

I froze on the spot, paralyzed. My mind was screaming in Fan-girl excitement, but my body remained frozen. I had no idea what to do. Suddenly, the rational part of my mind kicked in, and I launched myself from him, kicking his stomach.

He staggered back, surprised, but still smirking.

"What the hell…?" I stammered, wiping my mouth. My heart was still sprinting, but it felt oddly good.

"My apologies," Arthur bowed. "But I had to do it at least once."

And with that he stalked away purposefully, leaving me alone on the training field.

Over his shoulder he called: "You're a natural. Keep practicing those blocks, and you'll be better than most men I know."

'What the hell…?' I repeated 'was that?' The butterflies in my stomach finally settled, and I couldn't help but crack a smile. 'He totally planned that.'

**Author's Note:** Yeah. Arthur's getting nicer (sorta). Please review and tell me how I can improve! I love them!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The next day, I found myself walking alone to the Forge. Arthur usually walked me over there, but I guess after yesterday he thought it better to avoid me. I'm glad he did. I was still burning, and ready to kick his butt. How dare he kiss me!

Outraged, I made my pent-up-way to the Forge, concluding to vent to Alfred about his stupid older brother.

Alfred was already at the Forge, facing away from me, so I couldn't see his expression. He looked like he was brooding; elbows propped up on knees.

"Good morning, Alfred." I smiled tightly. "Your brother's

an asshole, and won't leave me alone."

"Brother?" He asked vaguely, completely uncomprehending. "Arthur's gone…"

His eyes appeared almost gray in the dim light.

"Alfred?" I asked, concerned. "What's wrong?"

His eyes drifted up to mine, unfocused.  
"Arthur's gone." He whispered.

I stopped in my tracks. "Gone? Gone where? Gone riding…?"

Alfred shook his head, eyes wide. "No, no! Gone on another mission! He's going back to France to fight, and he won't come back. People don't come back from war twice!"

'Gone to France?' I thought, heart sinking. My arms fell limply to my sides. Alfred was right; people didn't come back from war twice. Arthur was lucky to have come back to England once.

Steadying myself, I put my hands on the table. I wasn't sure if I felt relieved, or something else.

I was glad Arthur wouldn't torment me anymore with his assaults, but at the same time, he's promised me he'd take me back to France. How could he do that if he was…gone?

Involuntarily, I felt the tears come. There was no way I could get back to France myself; Arthur had been my only hope at that. At this point it seemed more likely that I'd fly to the moon than across the English Channel.

Alfred finally noticed my tears.

"Oh, Amelie!" he said, "Don't cry! Arthur might come back…someday…" He patted my back awkwardly, unsure if he could hug me.

"No he's not!" I shouted at Alfred, pushing his hands away. "It's like you said, Alfred. People come back from war twice. Especially not now! England's desperate, and they're putting all their forces in for a final push. It's reckless, and not well planned, and people will die. I've seen the plans. They're _not_ good. Arthur's _not_ coming back! And I'm _not_ going back home!" I sobbed.

Alfred frowned. "I know Amelie. He's your only shot at getting back to France. I wish I could get you over there somehow, but I don't see any way. No offense, but it'd be easier if you were a guy…then we could just put you in the army or something and you can ditch over there…"

"What?" I sniffled. The idea was so absurd, it almost sounded reasonable to me. One thing I knew for sure is that I didn't want to remain a servant here in England. I hated to admit it, but without Arthur, there was no point in me waiting around here.

"What was that about the army?" I mumbled, throat swollen.

"Oh, nothing." Alfred conceded. "I was just saying that if you were in the Army, you could get over to France, no problem. But seriously, it won't work, cause you're like…a girl. Not that that's a problem, or anything! Forget I said that..." Alfred blushed.

"But…you actually have a point. If I…dressed as a guy, I would be able to get across, wouldn't I?" I said slowly, making the plans in my head. "Where's the nearest recruitment center?" I asked Alfred.

"I always give you the worst ideas…" Alfred mumbled. "No. Forget about it, seriously. That has got to be against the law. Besides, I am not letting you go fight in war, even if you're just going over there to simply to _get there_. It's to dangerous, plus, you'd have to train for at least a month…"

'Too dangerous?' I stared at Alfred. 'Have you seen me fight with a sword? Arthur said I was a "natural."'

"Yeah," Alfred whined. "But still, it'll never work. People will discover you before you ever get a chance to get on a boat."

"Yes," I said. "But if I ever do get on one of those boats, they won't turn back just to drop me off. Really, I'd just have to hide my…femaleness…from the other recruits for like a month, you said?"

Alfred stared me down. "Get this crazy idea out of your head! It WON'T WORK. Period, end of discussion. Now go practice sword fighting or bend metal, or do something more feminine, please!" Alfred huffed.

"See?" I whispered to him, cocking my head to the side. "I can't do anything like a 'normal' female. I suck at cooking, I haven't held a needle, and don't even talk about cleaning. I love tinkering, and fighting. I was meant to be a warrior, Alfred."

Alfred closed his eyes and sighed, shoulders slumping. "I know." He conceded. "I've seen you fight. I'm sure you could hold your own in recruiting. I'll see what I can do to make sure you get separate quarters from the other men…"

Alfred trailed off, defeated.

"Thanks, Alfred." I gave him a tight hug. "I owe you one. And don't overthink this. I'll be fine."

Alfred gave me a withered glare and slouched his way to the castle.

"You're in." Alfred huffed.

"Really?" I asked, jumping up from my seat at the workbench. "That was fast." It hadn't even been the entire afternoon before Alfred had come back.

"So…" I slid up to him. "How'd you get me my own quarters?"

"Well," Alfred rolled his eyes, "I told them you were a cripple. Handy trick I found out a few years ago. People hate sharing rooms with handicapped." Alfred sneered.

"Oh." I said, staring at Alfred's leg. "Does this mean I have to act like I'm injured or something?"

"Nah," Alfred waved his hand. "I told them it was a mental disorder. Which is sorta true…since you are crazy after all." Alfred snickered. "What woman would join the armed forces in their right mind?"

"Hey!" I punched him playfully on the shoulder. "I'm doing this because I need to get home! I'm getting desperate here, can't you tell? The longer I stay here, the more dangerous it gets for me!"

"Yeah, I know." Alfred ran a hand through his hair, tousling it. "But what if I don't get to see you again?"

I paused. I hadn't thought of that. "I don't know." I felt small. Alfred had become my best friend here. Even closer than Elizabeta; I spent so much time with him.

Suddenly, my gut clenched.

"I'll come back." I said firmly. "I'm not sure when, or why, but I will come back to England again."

And I knew, deep in my bones that this was true. No matter how desperate I was to get away from this land, I had a connection here. Alfred would always pull me back.

I hugged Alfred to my chest. "I'll see you again. Don't worry."

**Author's Note:** Sorry it took me a little longer to update - My computer is on the verge of dying because my cat chewed and broke the power cord. Stupid cat (*glare). So this is not my computer that I'm working off of, so I have very little time to type. Sorry! Bear with me until another power cord ships!


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"I feel ridiculous." I huffed to Elizabeta, turning around in the mirror before me. I was currently decked out in a complete set of armor, minus the shield and helmet.

I picked at the hard metal breastplate, annoyed at how uncomfortable it was.

"You'll get used to it." Elizabeta assured me, smoothing down the green jerkin. "Though it is a shame we had to cut your hair. It was so beautiful." She looked about ready to cry, plucking pathetically at the short bob tied at the back of my head.

"It'll grow back." I smiled wetly at her. My hair was still a sore spot.

Sighing, I strode out of the room, walking awkwardly in the thick boots.

Today was my first day of training as a recruit, and I was to report to the Royal Guard's center in half an hour. Alfred had found an old set of armor in the back of the forge, and spent the weekend fixing up all the rusty joints.

'Why the hell is this so heavy?' I complained to myself. I resolved to build my own armor as soon as possible- there was no way I could efficiently move in this tank.

Following the map Alfred had given me, I followed a trail of other recruits, trying to fit in and walk with the same stride.

We filed in to an open clearing surrounded by trees. Looking around, I saw rows of tents formed orderly lines.

"Hey! Get out of the way!" Stunned, I turned around to slow. To late, the man crashed into me, tackling me to the ground. "Ha, that was close, wasn't it?" the man huffed in my ear.

The catapult rolled slowly over us, wooden wheels creaking. I would have been crushed.

"Uh…thanks." I shakily got to my feet. The man stuck his hand out, roughly dragging me to my feet. For the first time, I noticed he had white hair.

"I'm Gilbert. I just saved your life. I'm awesome."

'Not a bad deduction…' I mused.

"I'm…" 'Crap.' I faltered. 'What's my name?' "Uh…" 'Quick Amelie! Quick!' Suddenly, I spotted Alfred across the clearing. "A…lfred" I finished. "I'm Alfred."

"Alfred," Gilbert repeated, quirking an eyebrow. "Ya sure about that, blondie? You don't sound like it."

"I- am!" I stammered.

Gilbert gave a bark of laughter. "I'm kidding with you, dude! Come on, you look like a newbie, I'll show you around."

"Uh…thanks," I finished weakly. I was slung under his arm. 'Damn.' He was at least one head taller than me.

I looked over my shoulder; Alfred was really here. 'Huh.' I thought. 'I thought he wasn't allowed to join the Armed Forces…'

"Antonio!" Gilbert hollered, coming up to a tent. "We have a guest~"

"Eh?" a man with brown hair and green eyes clambered out. "Oh, hola! Newbie! How are you? I'm Antonio!"

"I'm Alfred." I said. 'Gosh that sounds weird.' "I'm fine." My voice sounded so small.

"Yep," Gilbert said, now slinging his other arm over Antonio, weighing the smaller man down. "We're the best of buds. We've been through, like…everything together."

"Everything?" My eyes popped. "How long have you known each other?"

Gilbert sniffed, looking at Antonio. "I dunno. Hey Toni, when did we invade Spain? That's where we picked up Antonio," Gilbert added to me.

Antonio shrugged, giving me a happy smile. "Long ago, mi amigo."

'Interesting,' I thought. 'A Spanish man fighting for England. Whatever…'

"So, did you get captured or something?" I asked Antonio.

"Yep." He said. "Actually, both Gilbert and I did. Gilbert's actually from Germany."

"Oh," I said. 'I suppose it's safe to tell them I'm from France then.' "I'm from Northern France." I said. "I was captured as well."

"Cool." Antonio said. "I guess we're all refuges then. You'll fit in just fine with us. Do you need a bunk?" Antonio asked. "We've got space in our tent."

"No thanks," I said quickly, backing away from them. No matter how nice they were being to me, I was not ready to share a room with the two of them. "I actually have a separate tent, somewhere. Thanks for the offer, though. I guess I'll see you guys around then?" I squeaked

Gilbert shrugged "Whatever dude. See you later."

I slid away, towards where I had seen Alfred. Thankfully he was still there, looking very imposing.

"Hey Alfred." I sighed in relief. At least I didn't have to pretend around him. Alfred pushed off the tree he was leaning again. I noticed he didn't have his crutch with him.

"Where's your crutch?" I was confused.

"I left it at the castle," he replied. "The other boys make fun of me for having it. It's a sign of weakness."

"Oh." I said. "Right. I didn't think you were allowed to come over here. Isn't it closed off to just the recruits?"

"And their training officers." Alfred added, smiling at me.

"You're a training officer?!" I gawked at him. "I didn't think you could be! How did that happen?"

"I actually have been for a while. I just don't get deployed because of my injury. I'm still good for training new recruits though." Alfred rubbed behind his head sheepishly.

"Sounds pretty good to me." I smiled up at him. "Can you show me where my tent is?"

"Of course," Alfred said, taking my arm. Suddenly, he dropped it. "I probably shouldn't do that while we're here, huh?"

"Right." I said, leaving my arm at my side. "I need to act more manly. How do I do that?"

"Pffft" Alfred puttered. "It'll rub off on you eventually. Just watch and learn. For now, just lay low and try not to be noticed."

"That won't be hard." I grumbled. "I'm so short compared to all these guys…"

"You're not that short!" Alfred put a hand on my head. I barely came up to his shoulder. "Okay, maybe you are, but you can pass it off as long as you say you're French."

"Hey!" I punched his arm.

"Owe," Alfred playfully looked offended. "Anyway, this is your reserved tent. I tried to place it as far away as possible. Luckily, you're only a few tents away from where I'm quartered with the rest of the trainers."

"That's good." I sighed in relief.

Turning back to him, I asked "So what should I call you here? Sir Alfred? Prince Alfred? Trainer Alfred?"

"Commander Alfred, actually" Alfred stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What about you? What's your name? Initiative…?"

"Alfred." I replied glumly.

"Wow." Alfred said sarcastically. "You are not very creative. Don't worry; I'll get you a nickname. How about…Alfie? That can kinda go both ways…"

"Alfie. That'll work. Good night Commander Alfred. I'll see you tomorrow." And with that, I disappeared into my tent, content with my new 'home.'

**Author's Note:** Sorry, I've been super busy lately, so I won't be updating as frequently as I have been - sorry! And YAY new characters! They've finally come! Review and let me know what you think, and sorry again for being so distracted, I'm honestly not really focused on this; perhaps some reviews may convince me that this is more important :P


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Amelie's POV

"Come on Alfie…" Gilbert muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Currently, that little pip squeak of an initiative (Alfred, was it?) was dueling Antonio.

"Beat up that Spanish bastard!" Gilbert shouted, fist pumping.

"Gilbert! I thought we were friends!" Antonio snorted, letting his sword-point drop into the dirt.

"Not today~"

"Would you guys shut up!" I shouted, turning to look back at Gilbert. "I'm trying to concentrate!"

"Hey," Gilbert scowling, stalking over. "Listen to me, you agreed to sword fighting lessons, now you have to do what I say. Think of me as your Commander."

"Alfred's out Commander." I stated.

"Yeah…" Gilbert draped an arm over me, dwarfing me. "But he's not here now, is he?" Gilbert chuckled. "Just do what I say; You'll learn faster!" He patted me on the back and returned to his earlier position.

"Okay." I huffed. I widened my stance, and turned my head to look back at Antonio.

Over the past few days, we'd just been doing strength training, but I was worried that I would be left far behind once we started with swordsmanship. Ha. SwordsMANship. I'm so punny…

Surprisingly, my "weak womanish muscles" was hardly noticed (I guess English men are just weak). I've been getting stronger every day, and I'm fitting in well as a "man" here.

However, I'm worried my swordsmanship won't be up to par with the others. From what I've seen, these men are all veterans.

Gilbert, and Antonio decided to help me ("Awww…but he's a poor newbie…we can help him, right?"). So…here I am. Dressed as man.

"Stab him!" Gilbert shouted. "Thrust! Now! You're under his guard!...Ah! Watch out!... Oh, good spin move…" Gilbert applauded.

Both Antonio and I were panting. I could get under his guard, but then I was exposed to his blows and had to dodge before he could hit me. Somehow, I needed to get behind him, or knock him off balance…

"Hey Antonio," I taunted "your boot's unbuckled."

"Wha-?" Antonio instinctively looked down at his feet, and his perfectly buckled boots. Taking my opportunity, I lunged forward, and Antonio hastily blocked my stroke. Shoving him back, he stumbled, caught off balance. I then kicked his knee guard, spinning him. I caught his arm before he fell over, holding my blade to his throat.

Antonio swallowed, green eyes wide. Gilbert had stopped cheering.

"Dead man." I whispered in Antonios' ear. "Good fight. I'm guessing this lesson is over now. I'll see you guys at dinner then?" It was more of a statement than a question. I dusted my gloves off, and stalked away.

"Indeed." Antonio tittered, rubbing his neck. Antonio turned to Gilbert.

Gilbert cackled. "I can't believe a newbie beat you Antonio! I've never seen you beat that easily!"

"Hey!" Antonio shouted defensively. "This was a training exercise! I went easy on him…plus, he's really good. He's got natural talent! I bet he would beat even you, Gilbert!"

"What?" Gilbert sputtered. "You think he can beat the awesome _me_? We'll see about that…"

"Alright, follow me" Gilbert muttered, beckoning the two of us forward.

I slithered after Antonio into the dense trees, a mere shadow in the dark.

After trudging around in the mud for a bit, I finally asked: "Gilbert, do you know where their flag is?"

Gilbert just laughed. "That's the whole point of this exercise: find the enemies flag, capture it, bring it back to your base, and don't die in the process."

"Right." I muttered. The silence broadened. "Should we split up then? We'll cover more ground faster…"

"We're already split up into groups. If we divide ourselves further, we'll be captured to easily."

"Fine." I huffed.

"Wait," Gilbert held his hand out, stopping us in our tracks. "I think I hear something. Into the trees!" Gilbert ordered

Antonio suddenly grabbed me by the waist, surprising me. "Up you go." I latched onto the branch above me, hauling myself up.

Antonio pulled himself up after me, and we began climbing up. Gilbert was perched in a nearby tree, listening for any voices below.

As silently as we could, we crouched in the branches, swaying slightly in the breeze. Antonio's green eyes glinted at me, catching the sunlight.

"…could have sworn I heard something." A rough voice whispered below. "It was coming from here…"

"Nah. You're probably just fantasizing things again. You always call a false alarm. Just shut up and let me do the scouting!"

"Fine." The first voice huffed. "But, you're not the one whose reputation is at stake here. I said I'd find the enemy lines! The ax will be coming down on my neck if any of the other team get past us!"

"Yeah yeah… Just shut your trap; I think I see something ahead." The crunching of leaves faded off.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"I guess this means the base is close." Gilbert called from a nearby branch. He was nearly invisible in the shadows. "Alfie, you're the lightest – see if you can see it from a higher branch."

"Yeah, you are really light, mi amigo." Antonio chuckled. "We've got to fatten you up!"

I chuckled nervously, and started climbing again.

The rough branches slimmed under my palms, and my surroundings lightened. Swaying with the breeze, I hung like a monkey.

Narrowing my eyes, I looked for the bright yellow flag of our enemy team.

Suddenly, I spotted it to our east, halfway up a tall oak tree and waving proudly.

"Gilbert!" I called "I think I found it! It's about 600 meters east of here, halfway up a tree!"

"Nice work Alfie." Gilbert gave me a thumbs up, smirking. "You can come down now."

Once I'd come down to the rest of the group Antonio asked: "What's the plan Gilbert? Are we going to report this, or take it ourselves?"

"Take it ourselves. Duh." Gilbert smirked at me. "More glory."

"Right," Antonio sighed. "Always the glory hound…"

We scrambled down the trees, one after another, and jogged off in the flag's direction.

'For the glory?' I thought. 'Is that what these guys really want?'

"It's not so much for the glory." Antonio said, reading my thoughts. "Gilbert's attacking now because we're in the best position. Telling our superiors would mean backtracking, and losing our advantage."

"Oh." I said. "That makes sense." 'So Gilbert _does_ have a plan…'

"Alright, halt here." Gilbert held out his arm again, eyes flashing from side to side. "The flag should be just up ahead, but there's no doubt it'll be guarded. Alfie – I want you to climb this tree and see how many guards for the flag there are."

Antonio boosted me onto the lowest branch again. Poised like a bird, I carefully made my way up further. 200 meters ahead of us, three guards lounged under our goal.

"Three." I said when I dropped back to the ground. "One for each of us."

"No, actually, I don't want you fighting." Gilbert instructed me. "I want you to hang back a little until Antonio and I have those three fully engaged. Then I want you to start climbing the tree, and retrieve the flag."

"You don't want me to help you fight?" I asked. I didn't understand.

Gilbert shook his head.

"The mission's complete as long as we get the flag, mi amigo." Antonio cut in. "No matter what, we need you to climb that tree."

"Oh, okay." I said. "I'll try my best."

Gilbert gave me a weird look. "You'd better. We're sacrificing ourselves for you! Even if this is just practice…with wooden swords…"

I smiled at them both. "Okay, let's go."

**Author's Note:** Capture the flag (my favorite game ever)! How many of you guys have every played it? Anyone? Isn't it awesome!? On a separate note (that's really not that separate): Sorry this took me so long to update - I've had writers block for a while now...Please review and tell me what you guys think~ [P.S. SPOILER ALERT, but I feel like telling you guys: They're going to France. Right. Now.] Any ideas for where they should fight?


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** Hahaha, my computer's being stupid (or maybe it's Fanfiction) but I can't reply to reviews :( so in response to the people who reviewed for chapter 12, yes I will have these characters mozy along to Paris (eventually). Thanks for the suggestions and reviews; you are fabulous people!

* * *

Chapter 13

"Ready?" Gilbert asked Antonio. Antonio nodded in confirmation. "Let's go."

The two of them slinked off, leaving me alone in the shadowed woods. Soon enough, the calm was interrupted by three embarrassingly girly screams.

'I guess they took the guards by surprise.' I smirked. 'That's my que.'

I sprinted off in the direction of the commotion, determined to get our enemies' flag and end the game.

I came into the clearing under the tree in a rush, to find Gilbert and Antonio grappling with three other men.

"Go! Up the tree!" Gilbert ordered, flipping one of the guards over his shoulder.

I hastily grabbed hold of the bark, and started climbing, finding footholds on the knobby surface.

High up in the branches, the fighting below grew distant. The trunk I was climbing around was beginning to thin – the flag had to be coming soon.

Sure enough, the yellow fabric peaked out from the leaves just above my head. I snatched it, and began my decent, giddy with excitement.

About halfway down, I shouted to Gilbert: "I got it! I got it! GAME OVER SUCKERS!"

I fist pumped the air, and momentarily lost my balance in my excitement. Wobbling, I grabbed tightly onto the closest branch, but my weight was already off it.

'Uh oh' I thought, falling.

I didn't even scream (which was probably a good thing, considering how high pitch it would be…but then again, those other guys have really girly screams…)

"Whoa! Alfie!" Gilbert screeched, pushing the guy he was still fighting off him. "Alfie!"

Everything seemed to tunnel into slow motion, and I became keenly aware of the five people watching me from below. All stared up at me with wide eyes, all horror struck.

Then I hit the ground, hard. My vision flickered, and everything went black.

* * *

"What the hell! Why won't you let us in? Crazy bitch -"

Gilbert stumbled into the medical tent, pushing the medic aside with a powerful arm, still muddy from the capture-the-flag game earlier.

My head was pounding, but I tried to open my eyes. Everything seemed to be spinning – there were five Gilbert's, Antonio's, and Alfred's twirling around me.

"Ugh." I groaned, shutting my eyes again. "Everything's spinning."

"Take it easy Alfie." Gilbert muttered. "You hit your head pretty hard."

"Is that what happened?" I asked, one eye peeping open to look at them crouched around my blankets.

"Yeah, you fell pretty far- maybe 10 meters or something. You probably would've broken more bones if it wasn't for all the leaves on the ground." Antonio smiled. "As it is now, it's just your left arm and collarbone that are broken."

"Right," I said, flexing the bandaged arm "I'm definitely feeling it now…" I sat back in the bed, suddenly very tired. I draped an arm over my eyes to block out the light, and noticed that my arm-guard was missing. I opened my eyes, and once the world had stopped spinning, found that I was in an unfamiliar undergarment, that I definitely hadn't put on this morning.

I cast an urgent look to Alfred, questioning him with his eyes.

He gave me a nervous smile, and I felt my heart sink.

'Oh God,' I thought 'Do they all know I'm a girl now?'

Alfred saw my look of despair. "It's okay Amelie. They know – or er… rather they saw…we had to take off your armor to check for broken bones…but they understand! They won't tell anyone, right guys?" Alfred cast me a winning smile, trying to uplift my spirits.

"No, no! I won't tell a soul!" Antonio promised, when he saw my scowling face. "I think it's very brave that you're here, and you have a good cause. Also, I've kinda known you were a woman for a while now…"

I gaped at him. "How did you know?" I shrieked. 'I've done such a good job covering it up!'

"Well," Antonio started uneasily, eyes swiveling to the ceiling, "During our practice fights, particularly when we were in hand-to-hand combat, I sorta felt some things that wouldn't normally be on a guy…and a lack of that other thing…" Antonio blushed, still not looking at me. "But I didn't tell anyone! And I promise not to!" He swore hastily.

I crossed my arms over my chest, cheeks blushing crimson.

"And what about you, Gilbert?" I turned my scorching gaze onto him, and he instantly started fidgeting, uncomfortable to be in the spotlight.

"I just found out!" Gilbert protested with arms up in surrender. "If I'd known you were a woman, I would not have trained you with a sword. Geez, if I did that with every woman I met, I'd be a dead man… And I'm fine, you know…not telling anyone that you're a girl, but I don't understand why you'd even want to be in the armed forces. I mean, geez, it's not easy, I'd get out of it if I could."

"Well," I said "That's a little complicated. Mostly, I joined because I need to get back to France and find my family." I replied.

Gilbert scrutinized me with his gaze. "That's not all it though." He pressed. "There's some other reason why you're going to France…"

I squirmed under his piercing gaze, uncomfortable. "Not really…" I said, still not looking at him.

"Amelie?" Alfred asked. "Is it to find Arthur?"

I froze. Turning to Alfred slowly, my eyes crawled up to his. "I owe him."

Alfred gave me a pained expression. "No you don't Amelie! If anything, he owes you. He captured you. He dragged you all the way to England against your will! Don't go through all this unnecessary sacrifice!"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Gilbert put his hands up. "When you say 'Arthur,' do you mean General Arthur? As in, the Prince of England?"

"Yes, the one and only." Alfred scoffed. "He's a royal pain in the ass if you ask me." He huffed.

Antonio chuckled in the background.

"Why do you think you owe Arthur?" Alfred asked, kneeling down to me.

I looked back up into Alfred's blue eyes, trying to communicate my feelings into words. "He's saved me. Multiple times." I whispered, thinking back to in France, when he first found me, and just recently, when I'd fainted at the forge. "He found me when I was lost, and in need, and he helped me. He brought me here. And I couldn't be happier." I smiled at my three new friends.

"Will you help me repay my debt?" I asked. "Will you help me bring Arthur home alive?"

**Author's Note:** So...they know she's a girl now...yay? Hopefully they won't try anything on her...actually, I think Alfred would prevent any of those guys from even touching Amelie...(brotherly love? or is it more...?) THE WORLD WILL NEVER KNOW! [Except that I'll have to figure that out eventually...ugh)

Yes, new quest (sort of). We will be upon France soon! And meanwhile, what the hell is Arthur doing? Not playing with French women I hope...

Please review and tell me what you think! I love critiques and comments or even just rants! All is welcome!


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** Sorry this is a short chapter where nothing really happens. Please read it anyway - I did win an essay contest using concepts from this chapter :) Enjoy! (And HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY TO ALL YOU AMERICANS AND PEOPLE WHO CELEBRATE IT BECAUSE YOU WANT TOO!)

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Chapter 14

I was standing in the middle of a squad 200 men strong, feeling completely alone.

We were almost to France- our ship was currently docking. But my mind was a million miles away.

I was nervous and twitchy- a nasty combination due to my awe that I was even made it to France. Evidently, I had a different goal to achieve now than I had had when I'd first arrived in England.

Surprisingly, I was going to follow orders (at least for a little while).

Our mission: Capture Paris. Seems simple enough. Until you realize how heavily fortified the city is, or until you realize how many men have already died trying to achieve that "simple" goal.

Yay. Now comes the fun part…

My mission: 1) Find Arthur, 2) Find the Bonneyfoy (my real family), 3) don't die doing 1 or 2.

Hopefully, all those things can happen in Paris…that's what all the training was for, right?

I've heard that you can go insane during/after war, so I've taken the precaution of keeping this monologue that's…in my mind (I think).

First thing that comes to mind: I couldn't have been more wrong about war.

You always see it glorified back home, wherever home is. People hear the word "war" and a little bud of pride appears. Sure, you think of the bloodshed, and the number of casualties. But they were all "sacrifices" for the "greater cause". What is this "greater cause?" More land? Recognition by the monarch?

No; there isn't one. The only reason all those men go out onto the battlefield is because they feel obligated, like they have to, or they'll be considered weak.

Self determination.

Your officer's barking orders from behind.

The solider beside you pushed you along, onto the front.

All this moves you forward, until you find yourself on the front lines.

That's when you look across – even across no-man's-land – and you see another man, supposedly your enemy. But he looks the same as you.

You're both young.

You're both terrified.

You're both holding swords, with targets marked in blood over your heart.

But he's French. And I'm…"British"

I can't kill him. I'm looking in a mirror.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Geez. Looking back at that last entry, I seem to be extremely depressed. But really, I'm not. Gilbert and Antonio are keeping me on my toes (I'm with them constantly). I swear, I never will have a moment of peace with those two around.

As a fairly new squad, it is custom for us to go out onto the front lines and get slaughtered dutifully with our arms across our chests, and eyes shinning up to heaven in praise for our Queen to our last breaths. My ass. She's not my Queen.

Anyway, they don't tell us we're going to the front lines, but…we are. I mean, we're heading straight to Paris with no delays.

"Hey, Alfie," Antonio started. "Have you ever been to Paris before?"

"No." I replied. "I've only heard about it from my…Parents." I hadn't even thought of my "parents" in quite a bit, I've been so distracted. If anything, I felt a little bitter – after all, they'd never bothered to even tell me they weren't my parents. They'd lied to my all my life.

"Parents." Antonio sighed, reading my thoughts yet again. "I don't know much about your family. What are they like?" Antonio questioned.  
"WELL," I started to grumble, "apart from the being dead part, they were really nice. I had three brothers: two older, and one younger. My younger brother was the cutest kid in the world. He didn't deserve to die…" I trailed off, a little shocked that a tear had begun to form in the corner of my eye.

"My Papa didn't talk much, but he taught me how to swing an ax and just about everything there is to know about apples." I gave a watery chuckle, thinking back to the hours of boredom I'd suffered through during his farming lessons. "My Mama on the other hand, talked a lot. Thought…most of the time I couldn't understand her, because she had a different dialect of French. Her accent was so strong." I shrugged.

Antonio nodded. "Sounds like a solid family. I'm sorry they were killed – I heard you talking about it earlier." Antonio gave me a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"Yeah," I grimaced. "But that's not even the interesting part. Those guys weren't even my real family! Apparently, I was adopted!" I trailed off.

"Arthur told me about this Bonneyfoy family that I'm a part of. Apparently, they all have this red streak in their hair." I flipped the indicated strand around my finger, much shorter now than every before.

"Originally, the only reason I was going back to France was to find the Bonneyfoys' and see for myself." I finished.

"But now…" Antonio paused, trying to find the right words. "That doesn't seem so much the case."

I sighed. "Not I'm going because I made a promise to Alfred. I promised that I'd bring Arthur home to England." I lied.

Antonio nodded, seeming to believe my lie. "That actually makes sense. You and Alfred are really good friends. You're doing him a huge favor."

"Right." I muttered, uncomfortable with lying to a friend. I just couldn't tell Antonio that rescuing Arthur was a mission Alfred didn't even know about. I couldn't tell Antonio that all I'd promised Alfred was my own return to England.

Because I don't think that's going to happen.

Not that I'm going to intentionally break my promise to Alfred – I just don't think I can actually survive long enough to make it back to England. Alfred needs Arthur more than me. England needed Arthur more than me. France needed Arthur more than me – and so I put my trust in Arthur to end the war.

Now I just needed to find him…

Antonio was still sitting next to me, lost in thought.

"Arthur's a real bastard." Antonio suddenly chuckled.

"What?" I asked, cheeks heating up at the mention of his name. "Have you met him before?"

"Oh, plenty of times." Antonio sighed, eyes rolling. "Didn't I tell you I was captured by him back when I was in Spain?"

I shook my head.

"Well, I was." Antonio conceded. "He beat the crap out of me, and then dragged me back to England on his ship. Ever since we've fought each other on sight. It's more of a friendly rivalry now than anything." He added, after seeing my horrified expression.

"Yeah, we're friends now, if you can call it that…it's an interesting relationship we have." Antonio drifted off in a dreamy voice, looking back up to the sky.

I gave him a weird look.

"Not that kind of relationship!" Antonio scolded me.

I immediately blushed, angry. "That was not what I was implying!" I shouted, pouting.

"Anyway…" Antonio rolled his eyes. "What about you? You seem to have a relationship with Arthur…yes in THAT way, Amelie." Antonio whispered, one eyebrow raised.

"What?" I sputtered. "No I don't. My only business with Arthur is as apprentice, and servant…and slave…sort of…" I trailed off.

Antonio's single brow remained raised, unimpressed with my response.

The pause lengthened, growing more awkward for me by the second.

"Admit it. You're in love!" Antonio sighed, leaning back, smirking.

Immediately, I suppressed the girly flare I felt in my chest, and calmed myself from strangling Antonio. "No I'm not." I said with as much conviction as I could muster (which was a pitifully small amount).

"Oh, mi amiga. Amigo. Whatever." Antonio answered. "Just enjoy it while you can. Love is hard nowdays."

"Yeah." I said dryly. "Tell me about it. Since when does the damsel in distress have to go rescue her Prince? What twisted curse of fate is this?!" I draped an arm over my head to exaggerate my melodramatic appeal.

"Don't forget the damsel's dashing and handsome servants, loyal and brave the girl's entire journey!" Antonio chuckled.

"Of course not!" I said, "I will never forget you Antonio. Neither you, or Gilbert, or Alfred." I sighed.

**Author's Note:** Unless some twisted form of fate (aka: me) decides that you guys/girls/buddies will be separated...depends how evil I feel when I'm writing later chapters. Hahahahahaha. Well, Amelie is totally in love, but refused to admit it to herself. Oh, the poor girl...Please review and tell me what you think (and sorry this was a slow chapter... the next will be action packed!) Any preferences of who dies? Just kidding... (but really...?)


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"I'm starting to have second thoughts…" Antonio whimpered to me. "What if we can't pull this off? Alfred's worried sick just thinking we'll be fighting the French…what we're doing is ten times more dangerous!" he whispered urgently.

Gilbert scowled. "I can't believe we're actually going to try to rescue Arthur. Or that I'm ditching. But then again, I always was to awesome to be in the military." He shrugged.

I turned back to them. "You don't have to do this guys. I'm not asking you to." We'd already left our camp far behind us. Honestly, it had been a little too easy. We'd literally…walked away.

"Nah. I'm already to deep into this shit to back out." Gilbert smirked. "Besides, I'm sick of this war – it's time someone got England's baloney together and saved the damn Prince."

"Agreed." Antonio murmured, still nervous. "But how exactly are we going to find Arthur's location anyway? He's royalty, so they'll keep him as a hostage…but how do we know where?"

"Like this." I ducked under a wagon and into the street, splattering myself with mud. A group of French soldiers' passed by, surprised by our spontaneous appearance.

"What are you doing?" Gilbert hissed. "Are you trying to get us captured?!"

"Yes." I stated matter-of-factly. "That's the best way to find what we need." I winked at them. "Now hurry up and surrender!"

"Yeah, they literally walked up to us and surrendered, just like that! They're no better than dogs, with their tails between their legs!" A French guard wheezed with laughter to his companion.

Flaming with embarrassment, Gilbert and Antonio trailed sullenly behind me, all of us chained together in a line of hostages.

"I sure as hell know what you're doing." Gilbert hissed to me. He was slapped in the head.

"No talking." The guard sneered.

After a pause, I murmured back to him: "Trust me." Honestly, my mind was in a whirlwind of panic, but getting captured seemed like the best way to get into Paris' hostage camps.

Antonio let out a huff behind me.

Before we'd left our English camp, Alfred had given me a detailed map of Paris for 'battle strategies.' Little did he know I wanted it to find where all the prisoner and hostage camps were.

"We're heading to the biggest one." I murmured. This camp was most centrally located in Paris, with the most fortifications. And also the most likely to hold Arthur.

The rest of the prisoners around me had their eyes to the ground, but I kept my chin up. Submission was disgusting.

A guard shoved my head down, but I kept my eyes raised in vigilance. I was looking for Arthur - the chances of finding him here were ridiculously high.

However, with each step, I felt my heart growing heavier as the sorrowful faces passing by remained unfamiliar to me. We finally came to our own cell – already occupied by three other men, covered in filth.

The three migrated towards the corner of the small cell to give us more space, and with a shock, I realized that two of the "men" were actually women. Everyone was just so dirty and haggard, it was difficult to tell.

"So," the man sitting in the middle of their trio asked, violet eyes raised to mine "what's your guy's story?" he asked in a thick accent. "I see that you're English." He said with a hint of disgust.

"Well," I started. "Actually, none of us are English, we're…temporary English troops."

"Ex-troops actually." Gilbert cut in, glaring at me. "We ditched. And got caught." Gilbert stated flatly.

"Which is part of our plan!" Antonio added, flashing a winning smile to brighten the cell's rotting mood.

"Yes." I sighed. "We're looking for someone in here. As soon as we find them – we're getting out of here."

The man in the middle chuckled, finally standing. I shrunk back slightly when I realized just how tall he was.

"And how do you plan to find someone when you're locked up in here?" he asked, white-blond hair gleaming eerily in the minimal light.

"Well," I shifted back, and dropped my voice to a whisper. "We won't be locked up in here for long. Just wait until the guards are relaxed – then you'll see." I smirked.

Gilbert and Antonio both gave me confused looks, which I ignored with pleasure.

"Meanwhile – how about you tell us about yourselves? It seems we have a bit of time." I jerked a thumb to the guard glaring at me from outside the cell.

"Well, the tall man sat back down – violet eyes glinting. "My name is Ivan, and these two are my sisters, Belarus and Ukraine. We are traders from up north – but the French didn't believe us and arrested us because they thought we were bringing in supplies for the English." Ivan finished bitterly.

"Oh." I said. "That's dumb. That's why we need to end this war – nonsense like this can be stopped."

Ivan nodded in agreement.

"I don't mean to pry, Alfie," gilbert started. "But how exactly do you plan on getting us out of here?"

I looked over to where the guard was standing in the corner, just beginning to nod off in exhaustion.

"I guess I can start now…" I muttered. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed a beam of the door, and began to pour concentrated energy into it.

I barely heard the gasps from behind me as the metal began to bend and glow under my fingers as my magic began to reshape the metal.

I removed my hand from the bar, a chunk still remaining attached to my fingertips, and went over to the lock.

I inserted the moldable metal into the locking device, and commanded the metal to cool. Feeling the power begin to ebb away, I turned the lock, and a satisfying click resounded in the chamber.

"Freedom…" I whispered

** Author's Note:** Sorry, the story is kinda dragging right now (I can feel it...) but I'm kinda sick of the computer right now and consequently am not putting in much effort to this story. My apologies, but I need reviews (aka ideas) to kick start my writing activity... Thanks again!


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:** Sorry it's been a while bro's - I've been preoccupied with taking life-saving classes, and it is very time consuming. Sorry again (but now I can save your life if you're drowning - Bwahahahaha!)

* * *

Chapter 17

My head lolled sleepily against the cool stonewall, my eyes heavily lidded with exhaustion.

Under the brim of my eyelashes my half-conscious self noticed some movement across from our prison cell in Paris.

A moment later, a hand pressed against my mouth, and my eyes shot wide in alarm.

"Shhh." A hooded voice soothed. "I am family to you. Let me help you." I shifted back from his arms still around my head to get a better look at the man.

Dressed in a rich purple cloak, a man with a red streak in his tussled blond hair smirked at me handsomely. I wasn't sure how old he was, but he seemed to be fit, and in his prime.

"Who are you?" I whispered, conscious of the guard snoring just across the hall.

"Francis Bonneyfoy." His brows creased with concern. "I am the head of the Bonneyfoy family, but somehow, I don't recognize you…"

I gasped in return. "You're a Bonneyfoy?" I whispered urgently. "I've been looking for you!"

"You have?" he deadpanned. "Well, I suppose that's true…You did send out the Bonneyfoy's emergency 'help' signal just a few hours ago…"

"I did?" I asked, eyes widening. "I didn't even know…" 'I guess it was when I forged the key…'

"That's how I knew you were a Bonneyfoy" Francis replied confidently. "No one else could send off magic that powerful. But really, who are you?" He persisted. "Are you one of Aunt Charlott's nephew's…?" He trailed off.

"Actually, I'm a girl, if that helps at all." I huffed.

Francis gagged. "What is a beautiful Bonneyfoy lady doing in the dungeons of Paris!" he practically shouted. "And with ENGLISH MEN!" he roared

My restless companions rolled over in their sleep.

"Keep it down!" I scolded him, blushing. "That's a long story…" I said, looking back nervously at my companions. "You know Francis." I batted my eyelashes at him, "It would be really helpful if you got my friends and I out of here."

"Well…" Francis stroked the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "I can get you out, but not the rest of that English scum." He sniffed reproachfully.

"They're my friends." I pressed. "And actually, none of them are English."

Francis raised a single brow.

"Long story." I continued.

"Okay, tell you what…" His voice strained.

"Amelie." I stated

"Sorry Amelie." Francis said. "But I can only get you out now. We can come back for your friends later."

"Okay." I said, turning back to my sleeping companions.

"I'll be right back." Francis winked at me, and scampered off, leaving a faint blush on my cheeks.

I heard an audible gasp of surprise and "Oh, Monsieur Bonneyfoy! How can I help you?" a minute later, followed by hasty steps towards my cell. Francis reappeared, glowing in the dim light. An officer trailed behind him, still half asleep, but with a scandalized look on his face.

The guard fumbled with his keys, and inched my cell door open. It squeaked in protest, and with a backward glance over my shoulder, I found all my companions still asleep.

Then Ivan's eyes open. They glimmered lilac in the torchlight, burning straight through me.

I pushed Francis forward, eager to get away from Ivan's stare.

"Thank you, my good man." Francis patted the guard on the back, and flipped him an extra coin. The guard caught it with surprise, eyes widening when he saw the gold.

"And off we go!" Francis took my arm, and strode off in a seemingly random direction.

"Wait," I said. "Shouldn't I let my friends know I'll be back soon?" I asked.

"They'll figure it out." Francis sniffed.

"If you say so…" I gave a worried look over my shoulder. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"Home." Francis stated. When he saw my confused expression, he added. "The Bonneyfoy residence."

"Oh." I said, stupefied. "Thank you for helping me Francis."

"Not a problem." He snickered. "I can't have a member of my family rotting away in prison, can I, ma belle? We need to get you looking like a proper Bonneyfoy!"

"So Francis," I asked, one leg crossed delicately over the other. "What do you do as head of the Bonneyfoy family?"

Now we were sitting in Francis's drawing room, cups of the finest wine in hand. And I was wearing a hideously uncomfortable, constrictive, flowery – dress. I hate dresses. So much…

"Well," he chuckled, swirling his wine glass. "I basically run the finances of this country. Metal work is such a huge industry, especially during war time, that we are the driving force behind the economy! Also," his voice lowered to a growl. "We influence the monarchy's decisions. The king is so old now he's turned over most things to his advisors. And by his advisors, I mean our family." He chuckled again, and took a sip of wine.

"But back to you…" his voice trailed off into a rough growl, sending a shiver down my spine. "What are you doing, Amelie?"

"Well… I'll just start from the beginning." I decided, and explained to Francis how my adoptive family was killed, and I was captured and taken to England. I told him of how I turned into a blacksmith, learned about being a Bonneyfoy, joined the army, and sailed to France in order to find Prince Arthur and end the war.

When I looked back up to Francis, their were tears in his eyes.

"Francis," I prodded gently. "What's wrong?"

"My sister." He whispered. "My little baby sister. I thought you were dead." He chocked, and took a firm grasp of my shoulders.

"How did you survive the fire?" he whispered, eyes frantically searching mine.

"Fire?" I choked, overcome by emotion. "What fire? Oh who cares, Francis; YOU'RE MY BROTHER!" I tackled him with a hug, and he swung me around, not caring that he was spilling wine all over his fancy carpet.

"I can't believe you're alive!" he cried, crushing me tighter. "I'm so sorry, Amelie! Everyone told me you were dead! The whole family searched the wreckage of our old house and you were gone! You've been alone all this time…I'm so sorry…"

"I wasn't alone." I choked. "The family I was living with must have picked me up from the wreckage."

"But still," he said, tears turning his deep blue eyes glassy. "I'm so sorry. You've suffered to much."

I gave him a watery smile, and wiped away my tears, suddenly self conscious to our environment.

Francis cleared his throat. "You know just finding Prince Arthur will not end the war." Francis strained, looking me in the eye.

I sighed. "I know. But what else can we do? I just thought that, now Arthur's seen France, he knows he can't win, and maybe he'll surrender…"

"Surrender?!" Francis shouted, slamming his hand on the table. "this war has been going on close to a century! If they didn't surrender 50 years ago, why would they surrender now?!" he roared.

"Because it's been 50 years more of pointless fighting and bloodshed." I answered, brushing the last of my tears aside. "We aren't getting anywhere with the way things are. Why don't we try negotiating things again?"

"Oh, Amelie, my dear, I wish we could. But the scars run to deep now." He sighed bitterly, turning away from me.

The silence lengthened, growing heavier and heavier until it was suffocating me, and I couldn't breath anymore.

"Do they still hold peace-marriages?" I squeaked.

Francis turned back to me, eyes still furrowed in anger and confusion. "Peace marriages?" He asked. "You mean when two families combine by marriage and live on peacefully?"

I nodded in confirmation.

"But the French Royal family has no female heirs to the throne, and neither do the Bonneyf-"

Francis froze, eyes glued to a distant point across the room.

"You." He whispered. "You are a Bonneyfoy heir!" Francis jumped up, and swung me around in his arms.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Okay, this chapter was rather happy (and boring, sorry) but stuff is happening. If you can't tell, this story is starting to wrap up, but I still need to uh...you know, finish it. Don't be surprised if there's a twist. Question: FrUk or FrUs? Another question: I want to kill people (but who...?) Evil face... please let me know what you think and how I can IMPROVE!


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Arthur's POV:

I put down the teacup delicately, careful to avoid the scrape of glass. I hated to admit it, but the service in France as a prisoner was better than the service I got at my own castle. 'I definitely need to talk to my servants about this.' I thought bitterly 'If I ever get home…'

For I was certain I would be rescued – after all, they hadn't killed me yet. Since they hadn't killed me, and it had been a few months, it was safe to assume that they would not kill me at all. So what purpose did I serve the French then, sitting here and drinking tea?

Ransom. That was what I was – a big stack of gold coins in the French's minds. To the English, I was their last hope – locked up in a prison.

Before I'd left on my last invasion, my mother's advisors had vowed that I as the essential piece always be safe.

Evidently, that didn't work out. The French knew where our attack was coming from, and outnumbered us 10 to 1.

I shuttered at the thought of my comrades in arms falling before me.

Alfred would make sure I got back to England… I know for a fact he'd never accept being King, seeing as he'd told me so himself. He felt to ill to rule, and I didn't blame him.

But the way things were going now, it looked like Alfred would become King.

I stood up from the only chair in my lavishly furnished room to tap the maid on her way out.

"Excuse me." I started politely; I didn't want to scare her off. She turned around quickly, almost dropping the platter she was holding.

"Sorry." She mumbled in English.

"Is their any news of England that I should know about?" I asked her innocently.

Her eyes immediately dropped to the ground, and my heart sank.

"We're not supposed to tell…"she mumbled again.

I sighed and took a step forward, resorting to what Alfred had always called my "charm."

"Poppet," I took her chin in my hands, forcing her eyes to meet mine. They were intensely gray, reminding me of someone else's I'd dreamed of too much…

My heart throbbed painfully, and I shook my head to rid myself of the thoughts of Amelie. She was probably long gone, safe and sound by now.

I smirked to cover up the pain behind my eyes. "I need to know what's going on. What's the harm in that? Being locked up in this cell all day is very tiring."

'Not to mention boring.' I thought bitterly.

"Well," the girl took a deep breath, her accelerated heartbeat audible in the quiet room.

"France seems to have England with his back against the wall." She stammered. "The King and Queen seem to think England will be surrendering soon because of your capture…and" she swallowed. "Also…the Queen of England died." She almost whispered.

_'What?' _I thought. Everything seemed to freeze.

"My mother's dead?" I choked, backing up into the wall. "When? How?"

"She passed on about two weeks ago. They said it was grief, sir…" the maid answered, hands squeezed around in front of her.

"Who's running the country?" I almost screeched.

The maid awkwardly swayed on her feet. "You're the rightful King of England, sir. And that's causing quite a bit of commotion. You see, Prince Alfred is refusing to rule in your place. Frankly, they desperately need you back."

I sank to the floor, head in hands.

'How could I be gone at a time like this?' I felt so hollow. My brother probably did too.

I quickly sent words of prayer to Alfred, begging him to take my place and rule the country. But I knew deep down that his refusal was his own choice.

"I'm so sorry Alfred…" I whispered. "So sorry…"

Suddenly, I realized the maid had left the room, and the space yawned before me.

Everything clicked suddenly, into position.

England hadn't surrendered.

Alfred refused to be King.

I hadn't been executed.

So…was a rescue on the way? Were their negotiations going on? I didn't know…

I slammed my fist down on the floor.

"I can't tell anything from this damn prison." I fumed. "What is going on, Alfred?" I whispered. "What do you have planned?"

Amelie's POV

I was feeling exceptionally nervous and jittery. I was wearing foreign clothes. I was in a strange new house. I was sitting across from a man who I had only met yesterday, and eating breakfast with him.

Everything was unfamiliar - even my reflection in the mirror. My hair had grown since I'd last seen myself – it was down to my shoulders now, and able to pinned up in elegant curls around my face so you couldn't tell how short it really was.

"Don't worry, Amelie." Francis reassured me, sipping the last drops of wine from his glass. "You look fine. The King and Queen will be totally won over by you!"

I looked up at him through my lashes, unable to tell him that I was more concerned about my friends, than the King and Queen of France determining my fate.

"I'm not worried about the King and Queen, actually." I admitted. "I want my friends out of prison, please."

Francis waved my request away. "All in good time, Amelie. Now is the time for you to show your worth as a Bonneyfoy and end this war!" he beamed.

He rushed me out of the room and into a carriage waiting outside.

"I can't wait to see what they'll say to this peace marriage." Francis whispered, squeezing my hand. "I hope they accept!"

I smiled weakly, unable to find a non-vulgar explanation to my feelings towards marrying Arthur. "I just want to end the war."

**Author's Note:** Okay! So things are starting to wrap up here! Pooh, whoo the Queen died, but HEY make way for the new generation! I'm still debating who's going to die...and I'm open to suggestions. Thank you all for the reviews - they are forever lovely, and make me very happy!


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Blisteringly cold eyes bore into me from across the extensive hall. Beside those, a pair of warm brown eyes were juxtaposed next to those steels shards of ice.

I stood perfectly still next to Francis, hoping no one would notice my slight tremors of nervousness.

How was it that I was more confident faced with five men with swords than these two clowns before me?

"Monsieur Francis Bonneyfoy, and Madame Amelie Bonneyfoy, your Highnesses," A servant spoke elegantly.

The Queen's eyes remained narrowed at me as the King gave me a friendly smile.

I gave him a tentative smile back.

"Your Highness," Francis stepped forward, dragging me along. "May I personally present to you my little sister, Amelie Bonneyfoy."

I gave a deep curtsy, engulfed in outrageous skirts. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to disappear in my massive skirt.

"She is the key to ending this was peacefully, and quickly." Francis continued.

"Is she really your sister?" The Queen cut in skeptically. "She looks more like a peasant than a Bonneyfoy to me."

Francis cleared his throat. "I assure you, your Highness, she is my little sister. She has been traveling abroad and has only just now returned home."

"I've never even heard of her." The Queen sniffed. "If I don't believe she's of decent blood, how will the English accept her as royalty?"

Enraged, I broke in: "I have traveled to England once before, Highness." I spat. "The royalty there knows me well." I finished.

"So she speaks." The Queen said thoughtfully. "Interesting.

"Has Prince Arthur agreed to this plan?" The King asked, not wanting to be left out.

"No." Francis sighed. "He has not even been told yet. I thought it best that you two approve it first. "

"A wise decision." The Queen conceded. She turned to her husband, and a knowing look passed between them.

"We will accept, and bless, this girl as France's representative in this coming peace marriage." The Queen declared. "Don't disappoint us, girl." She said quieter.

"Thank you." Francis gave a deep bow, and began to scoot me back.

"Oh, and Francis?" The Queen asked. "Do make your sister behave. We are expecting her to represent the strength of France in this coming marriage."

"Of course." Francis gave a tight smile.

"We will send word to England, namely Prince Alfred and inform him of our decision. The wedding will take place in a month!" the Queen declared.

"Assuming Prince Arthur agrees?" the King nervously asked his wife.

"Of course he will agree!" the Queen hissed, then gave a mischievous smile. "What other choice does he have?"

"Clever as always, your Highness." Francis agreed. "Good day to you both." Francis quickly shoved me out of the room, the large doors booming behind us.

"I'd better go tell Prince Arthur now…" Francis muttered.

"Wait!" I shouted, loosing all composure. "You know where he is?"

"Of course." Francis flushed. "He is in one of the Bonneyfoy prison towers. They are of the highest security."

"Can I see him?" I asked. "You might need a little help convincing him this is the right thing to do. He can be rather pig-headed at times." I quickly added.

Francis thought it over for a second. "Come." He grabbed my arm again. "Might as well woo as many men as possible today while you look so ravishing." Francis wiggled his eyebrows.

I blushed, but followed along nonetheless, adjusting my bodice so it sat a little higher.

"Wait, WHAT?!" Arthur sputtered, blushing crimson. "I'm getting married to you?" Arthur pointed an accusing finger at me.

"When was this decided? And when did you become part of the French royalty!?"

"Well," I looked to Francis. "Yesterday, I guess."

Arthur's green eyes widened considerably. "How did you get back to France?"

I swallowed. "I joined the armed forces, with Alfred's help of course, and sailed here with my squad." It's kind of hard to sugarcoat months of bloodshed.

"You joined the army?" Arthur's teeth ground together. "You could have been _killed_ if you were discovered!" he roared, taking my shoulders.

"Oy, let her go!" Francis shouted, pushing Arthur away from me. "She did it to save you!"

"To save me?!" Arthur's voice raised an octave. "Are you insane Amelie? When I said you should go to France, I meant back HOME. With your FAMILY! Away from all this crazy royalty!" Arthur made a vague gesture towards Francis, who sniffed offensively.

"This is my family!" I shouted. "Look, I'm a Bonneyfoy –no matter what I do, I'll be surrounded by royalty! It's a fact, get over it! You can't tell me to avoid my own family; not when that's half the reason I came back!"

"That's not what I meant!" Arthur spat. "I just wanted you to be happy…I thought that meant sending you away from me. I caused you so much pain…" He trailed off into a whisper.

"You brought me my true life, Arthur." I stated. "Why would I want to avoid you?" I swallowed. "I thought we could be together."

"And you're also getting married in a month." Francis cut in. "It would be kind of awkward-"

"-I never agreed to that!" Arthur's voice rose once more. He took a deep breath to steady his heart rate.

"So you don't want to marry me?" I asked as evenly as I could, though my voice cracked.

"I didn't say that either." Arthur didn't look me in the eye. He sighed, but held back what he was going to say. "It's just to sudden. Let me think about it."

"Look, I hate to break this to you, Mr. Almighty Future King of England, but you don't really have a choice in the matter. It's marriage or death."

Arthur simply stared at Francis.

"Well, it looks like I don't have a choice after all." Arthur's mouth was a flat line. His eyes glared daggers at Francis. It broke my heart.

I held in my tears, and slid out of the room as quickly as I could. Francis and Arthur bickering faded away behind me.

'He doesn't love me.' I stumbled away. 'What do I do now?'

I slid to the floor, covering my face with my hands. I was so out of it, I didn't even notice the two men that approached me from behind.

"It's her!" One of the men shouted.

Before I knew what was going on, my mouth was gagged, and my head was in a bag. Furiously, I tried to twist my arms out of the men's grip, but my arms and legs were tied with thick ropes. I couldn't even scream.

"Gilbert, make her stop wiggling." A very familiar voice whispered. Before I could understand what was going on, a sickening crack made everything around me go black.

**Author's Note:** Haha - cliffhanger!


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:** Haha! This Fanfic is almost done (I'm thinking 1 more chapter after this), so prepare yourself! Sorry it's been rather lame/random, but I've been very distracted, and thinking of other Fanfics to write after this. Aka: I am not focused. I am so sorry! Try to enjoy...

* * *

Chapter 20

I blearily opened my eyes to the gray air. I was very warm, and comfortable.

'I must be dead.' I sighed.

It took me a moment to realize that I was moving, and that a warm hand on my forehead was holding me in place on what seemed to be a cart. I looked to where the hand was connected to, and my heart stopped.

"Gilbert?" I croaked. My head was throbbing. "I must be in hell…" I muttered

Gilbert snickered. "Hell? Seriously, that's when you thought you'd see me next? I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but you're not dead yet."

"I'm not?" I groaned. "Kill me please. My head hurts so bad."

Antonio cleared his throat.

"You're here too, Antonio?" I asked

"The headache is Gilbert's doing." Antonio wiggled his eyebrows.

Gilbert scratched the back of his head. "Yeah…I might have hit you a little too hard. Sorry about that. We didn't want you to scream or something…would've thrown off our plan…"

"What plan?" I sat up, making my head spin. "Where are we, anyway?"

"About 20 miles out of Paris." Antonio replied. "As for the plan, that's still being thought through. We heard everything that Bastard Prince Arthur said, and decided it was best to get you out of there."

'Arthur.' I thought bitterly. "You're right. I don't want anything to do with that man anymore."

"That's why we stole you away!" Gilbert gloated. "Now you are free to do whatever you want!"

I slumped back into the cart. "Speaking of being free, how did you guys get out of prison?"

"You did leave the key in the cell." Gilbert smirked. "We just broke out the next day. That Ivan guy is really scary with a lead pipe…" Both Gilbert and Antonio shuttered. "Those three are headed back to their snow-land or wherever the hell they came from. Good riddance!"

Both my eyebrows shot up. "I forgot I left the key there. Well, I guess that was a good thing!" I paused. "Where are we going, anyway?"

Antonio hummed. "I don't know. It's up to you. I think it would be best to lay low for a little bit, and then explore some other countries…do you know of any good place to hide?"

"I do." I said, thinking back to my old house on the orchard. "If we head northwest and travel along the coast, we should reach it in about 2 days."

"Great." Gilbert sighed. "Sounds like I have to lug this cart halfway across France to get where you're thinking."

"Well, you're not wrong." I giggled. "At least where we're going is remote. No one will bother to look for us out there."

'There' ended up being the old orchard I lived at.

"So you used to live here, huh?" Antonio inquired, shuffling inside the house. Though the house was in major disrepair, the neighbors had at least taken care of my family's bodies. Now, all that was left was the roof, and broken windows.

"Home sweet home." I muttered, sitting down in a pile of straw. "At least for a little while."

"What are we going to do now?" Gilbert asked, popping the question everyone was thinking.

I sighed: I'd thought about this a lot. "I have this nasty feeling Francis, my brother, will come after me. It's also fairly likely the Queen and King will send forces as well."

Both Antonio's and Gilbert's eyes popped.

"What did you do…?" Gilbert whispered in mock horror. "Pledge loyalty to end a war and swear you'd marry a Prince?!"

"Very funny." I said sarcastically. "Honestly, I wish I could just disappear…"

"Kinda hard to go back undercover after you've exposed yourself." Antonio muttered.

"We can sleep on this. I, for one, am exhausted." Gilbert yawned hugely for emphasis. "I don't appreciate being a cart horse, though I will proudly sleep like one." Gilbert declared, before promptly flopping back on the straw and beginning to snore.

"Yeah, let's hit the hay." Antonio yawned as well, and made a bed of straw.

Left alone with my own thoughts, I laid back as well, closing my eyes.

A million thoughts whirled around me – everything was so backwards. Just when I thought I'd found a solution, a solution to my life, a solution to the war, it disappeared in a flash.

All because Arthur said he didn't love me.

Involuntarily, the tears came, and I couldn't stop them. I was back to square one.

With Antonio and Gilbert snoring contently, I slipped off the fancy dress Francis had required me to wear to see the King and Queen. Now that all seemed distant, and entirely in vain.

I quietly donned a loose jerkin and breeches, folding a cloak up and around my head as my little barrier against the world. Hugging the dress to my chest, I slipped into a troubled and sniffling sleep, tormented by those hypnotizing green eyes.

I was startled awake by the sickening sound of a man screaming in pain. My vision was still fuzzy with sleep, but soon, the ten soldiers surrounding my household filtered into focus.

As did the man leading them.

_Arthur?_

My heart throbbed painfully, but it constricted in fear a moment later.

Gilberts body gave another spasm under Arthur's blade. The cold murder in Arthur's eyes chilled me to the bone as the blade slid out of Gilbert's side, crimson with blood. Gilbert let out an agonized moan as he clutched his side.

And then the eyes turned to me.

"Don't move, thief." He growled to me, advancing.

I shrank back in fear, hood shadowing my face in darkness. I was paralyzed by him – for more than one reason.

"Ame-!" Antonio's screech was cut off as two soldiers cut off his airway from behind, and pinned him to the ground.

"Keep them alive." Arthur stated calmly, sword rising up to my throat. "The least that they deserve for their cunning is a public death. They stole my bride."

'Stole his bride?' the question resounded in my head. 'What was so cunning?' WHAT IS GOING ON?' Everything was at such a standstill around me I couldn't even comprehend what he was talking about.

"Now, where are you three hiding her?" Arthur's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Take off your hood, Amelie! He thinks you're-" Antonio's mouth was muffled again by the soldiers restraining him.

Finally understanding, I sat up gingerly, mindful of the sword pointed at my throat. In one sweeping motion, I threw the heavy hood off my shoulders, revealing my face to Arthur.

And he was speechless.

"A-Amelie?" he stuttered, utterly confused. His sword tip immediately dropped to the floor. "Are you all right?" he knelt down next to me, touching my shoulders gingerly.

I flinched away from him, disgusted.

"Why are you acting like this, Arthur?" I spat. "I thought you never wanted to see me again."

Arthur was speechless, mouth hanging open like a fish. Finally, he swallowed, blinking several times to collect himself.

"You disappeared." He started in a whisper. "Francis and I couldn't find you, and when the guards reported that a group of strange men had broken in, I thought they had kidnapped you."

'Kidnapped me?' I thought. 'You couldn't be more wrong.'

"We went after you – we've been searching all night. I followed the trails of a cart to this place. And realized that this is where…" he trailed off, looking around himself with a shutter.

"A fitting place for your captors to have taken you. I'm surprised they even knew where this place was. Anyway, I've come to rescue you, and take you home as my bride."

And now it was my turn to be speechless.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

_"I've come to rescue you, and take you home as my bride." Arthur stated._

_And now it was my turn to be speechless._

"Are you delusional?" I hissed at Arthur. Inside, I was a jumbled mess of fainting girliness and burning anger.

"W-What?" Arthur stuttered again.

I sighed, shaking my head in disbelief. "You rejected me, _remember_?" I emphasized the last word. "You said you wouldn't marry me."

"You left in the middle of the conversation, Amelie," Arthur pleaded. "All you heard was my initial reaction…"

The look I was giving him made him stop.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, leaning in to me. "I was surprised. I didn't know what to say. What you heard was me…acting like a little boy. Please know that that is not at all how I feel about you."

I looked up into Arthur's green eyes, open and welcoming, begging for forgiveness. I'd seen this look too many times now, and I knew I had lost my resistance.

Tentatively, I scooted towards him, and cautiously placed a kiss on his cheek.

"So…how _do_ you feel about me?" I looked up at him through my lashes.

Arthur melted into me, tenderly stroking my hair. "I love you, Amelie. From the first time I saw you, I haven't stopped thinking about you."

"I could say the same." I whispered, suggestively tracing my fingers along his thigh.

Arthur immediately reacted, stroking my chin up until our lips meet in a passionate kiss.

I pulled away first, conscious that we had an audience – and that that audience was in critical condition.

"Gilbert is bleeding to death!" I rose in a panic. "We have to stop the bleeding!"

"The criminal?" Arthur pouted at the loss of his kiss. He gestured to Gilbert, lying pathetically on the floor. "He'll die soon anyway; don't bother."

"He's my friend!" I hissed to Arthur. "Despite what you may think, these two didn't capture me. I ran away. And they've helped me a lot! Now help him!" I pleaded, tugging on Gilberts shoulder.

Arthur scrambled to his feet at my tone. "Wait, when you say you did things 'together,' do you mean _together together_, or just-"

"It's not like that!" I exclaimed for the umpteenth time. 'Sheesh, why does everyone assume I have an affair with every male I meet? It's not like men are "irresistible…"'

I immediately set Arthur to work bandaging Gilbert's injured abdomen, overlooking the bandaging like a mother hen.

"So the wedding is on?" Francis asked us tentatively, glancing between Arthur and myself. We were sitting in stoic silence, though we were holding hands.

Arthur glanced to me, smirking. "What do you say, my Queen? Are we getting married?"

I smiled at the use of my soon-to-be title. "I do believe so King Arthur. I do believe so..."

"What about those two?" Francis gestured to Antonio and Gilbert slumped in the corner of the carriage.

"Those two will be knighted." I proclaimed. "They are valuable, and loyal men that we should all learn from." I smiled at the two, reminiscing at where our travels together had taken us.

"Oh, you'd better…" Gilbert grumbled. "After all the things we've done for you…"

"Sacrifice, loyalty, bravery…honor…" Antonio droned on, melodramatically serious.

"Yeah, yeah." I said. "Get over yourselves."

"You know that's very hard for Gilbert." Antonio smirked at me.

"Arthur!" Alfred scrambled up to his brother as fast as his crimpled leg would allow. "You're home! You have no idea how glad I am!" Alfred glomped Arthur, practically throwing the soon-to-be King to the ground.

"Those advisors were pressing me to be King so badly!" Alfred whispered ferociously. "Your letter saying you were getting married and returning to England couldn't have come at a better time! They were ready to coronate me that day!"

"Oh!" Arthur exclaimed. "I'm glad I'm back then! Has everything been alright since…"

Alfred's gaze turned somber at the implied mention of their dead mother.

"It's been pretty depressing, actually. But since you're getting married~ it'll push that sadness out of everyone's minds!"

"Speaking of which, where is she?" Alfred peeped around Arthur, trying to get a better look at the veiled woman standing behind him.

"May I present to you Lady Amelie Bonneyfoy of France, future Queen of England, and peace bringer to the world as we know it." Arthur turned to me, gesturing me forward.

Shaking the veil off my head, I turned to hug Alfred.

Alfred was shocked, to say the least.

"A-Amelie?" he stuttered. "You're the French Princess everyone's been talking about?"

"Yep." I squeezed him tighter. "I told you I'd come back."

"W-Wow." Alfred was still rigid with shock. "Just…wow. Man, Artie, you've got a good one!" finally he hugged me back. "Maybe I'll have to steal her~" he clutched me closer.

"Oh no you don't!" Arthur snatched me away into the protection of his chest. "I had to fight a war to get this one. I'm not fighting another one."

"You guys talk about me like I'm a piece of property." I rolled my eyes at them. "Show some respect for the one that saved both your sorry asses."

"Watch you language, Amelie!" Arthur purred playfully. "You are going to be Queen."

"Eh. Who says I have to act like it? To everyone in England, I'm some random French Princess they've never heard of. I'll act however the hell I want!"

"Maybe it was a mistake bringing her back…" Alfred muttered to Arthur, stroking his nonexistent beard. "I'll take her off your hands if you need me to. She's a feisty one, all right."

"And she's _my_ feisty one." Arthur draped an arm around me, emphasizing that I was his, and subtly telling Alfred to back off.

"I'm just letting her know all her options…" Alfred rolled his shoulders. "You never know…"

"Alfred, if you're threatening to kill me, just spit it out."

"Nah, man. I'd never do something like that. I'm just saying your wife's sexy."

"ALFRED!"

"What…?" Alfred smirked at me, making me giggle. "If you ever get bored, Amelie, you know where I'll be." Alfred scampered back to the forge, leaving Arthur fuming in his wake.

I shook my head, silently laughing at my fortune. I was surrounded by people I loved – this was my true family.

* * *

**Author's Note:** THERE! IT'S DONE! If you don't know, I already started a new story (part of the reason I've been distracted in finishing this one). So I'd check it out if you're interested. It's called 'If Hellions Were Beautiful,' though the theme is nothing like this one. Thank you all for sticking around- it was a pleasure writing for you~


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